


The Lost Prince

by AKThorinson (akdogdriver)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Middle Earth, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akdogdriver/pseuds/AKThorinson
Summary: It has been nearly fifty years since Thorin Oakenshield and Kaylea Wolf began a new life in the North. Now there is the threat of war between the Seven Kingdoms over succession in the Iron Hills. The prince is missing, leaving Thorin's daughter to rule. Will The Warrior and The King find the lost price in time, or will the families go to war rather than accept a woman on the throne?This story grew out of a short piece I wrote about Thorin coming home to his wife. This will be my first time posting chapters as I write them.9/08/2020 - Update: I felt this story was running off the rails and turning into a 30-chapter epic, which was not my original intention. Chapters have been revised and updated with new content. Now I know why I usually post complete stories!
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield & Original Character(s), Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Home

Kaylea woke to the touch of Thorin’s lips on her cheek, his beard brushing her skin. Then his lips on her neck, the soft touch of his tongue. Sleepily she turned and put a hand behind his head, guiding his mouth to hers. She savored his warm, earthy taste, felt the cold of snowflakes in his hair.  
“When did you get back?”  
“Just now,” Thorin smiled at her, leaning over the back of the couch. “I cannot believe I actually found you asleep.”  
“Only you could sneak up on me like that,” Kaylea pushed herself up, running her fingers through her hair. She felt foolish, she should have woken as soon as he turned the lock. But subconsciously I knew it was him, I knew I was safe.  
Thorin took off his coat and hung it up, then added a couple logs to the fire. The coals in the hearth became a merry flame, popping and crackling. He took a seat on the couch, propping his boots on the table.  
“Can I get you anything, husband?” Kaylea asked. Thorin shook his head and drew her close, she curled against him, laying her head on his shoulder. They watched the fire in silence for a time, Thorin gently stroking her hair. Kaylea had lived so much of her life in peril and uncertainty, she had come to relish these moments. With her husband’s strong arms around her she felt so completely safe, like everything was right in the world.  
“Why are you sleeping on the couch? Is there something wrong with the bed?” Thorin teased. He turned and kissed her cheek again.  
Kaylea chuckled at him. “Yes. You were not in it.” She let her fingers travel inside his shirt, tracing the muscles of his chest.  
“Ah, I have been having the same problem.” Thorin tilted her head up and kissed her, deeply. Kaylea could never get enough of the way Thorin tasted, like rain on hot earth, with a hint of some half-remembered exotic spice. The smell of frankincense in his hair, the touch of his hands that should be rough but were somehow soft as silk. The feel of his lips still sent the same thrills up her spine she had felt in their first days together; she could lay in his arms and kiss him for hours.  
“Shall we drink a toast to celebrate?” Thorin asked, after a long moment.  
Kaylea smiled at him and pushed the blanket in her lap aside. She could feel Thorin’s eyes on her as she went into the kitchen to retrieve a tall bottle and two glasses, secretly glad she had showered and put on a clean tunic and leggings before laying down on the couch. Thorin was used to her work clothes, but he had been gone for weeks; she always liked to make an effort to welcome him home.  
“What brought you home so early?” Kaylea asked as she poured the drinks. “I was not expecting you for a few days yet.”  
Thorin took his drink then reached over and ran his fingers down one of her braids as she took a seat beside him. “You really have to ask that? After all this time?” He clicked his glass to hers. “You know there is no place in this world I would rather be than with you. I finished my business early and rushed home to my beautiful wife. And I got to wake her with a kiss. A perfect way to end the day.” He refilled their glasses. “There are two wagons of fine steel coming behind me, enough to last me until next year. The steel they are making in Erebor now is amazing, better than any ever made by Elves.” He sipped at his drink, frowning. “There was a meeting of the Seven Families while I was there.”  
Kaylea sat back. “A meeting of the Families? How many years has it been since there was one of those?”  
“So long I don’t remember,” Thorin said thoughtfully.  
Kaylea could tell there was something weighing on his mind, no doubt it involved the meeting. She watched him closely, hoping to pick up a clue, but Thorin gave her no sign. She leaned against his shoulder and waited for him to go on. After the silence had stretched on for some time, she risked another question. “Why the meeting?”  
Thorin took a deep breath and shook his head. “I would rather talk about you. What have you been doing while I was gone?”  
“Nothing as exciting as that!” Kaylea laughed. Tonight’s snow had been the first of the year, soon the mountains would feel the hard grip of winter. While her husband had been in Erebor she had been laying in food for them and the dogs, clearing trails and hauling wood. There were ten cords outside that needed to be bucked and split.  
“Sounds as though we have a busy day tomorrow,” Thorin said, a twinkle in his eye. “We better get a good night’s sleep.”  
Kaylea shifted over to sit in his lap, running her fingers through his hair. “You wish.” 

The next morning they started on the firewood, three cords were done before the wagons from Erebor arrived. The freighters were Men from Dale, with their help the metal was soon stacked neatly on the racks in Thorin’s shop. The wagons were moving almost as soon as the last bar was unloaded, the Men wanted to be on their way before any new snow fell and the skies had been threatening all day. Kaylea stayed out of sight, so as not to give the freighters any cause for gossip.  
Later that evening, after dinner was cleared away, they sat together on the couch watching the fire and enjoying a couple bottles of the new ale from the abbey. Thorin had been playing with Kaylea’s braids and started taking them out. He was never satisfied with the way she did them, and in truth Kaylea loved it when he braided her hair. There was a kind of quiet intimacy to it that spoke more clearly of his feelings for her than words ever could. He had said nothing about the meeting of the Seven Families all day, though she could tell it had been on his mind.  
“Why don’t you want to talk about the meeting?” She asked at last.  
Thorin took a deep breath, his fingers working her hair. “I keep trying to tell myself it is no longer my concern.” Thorin chuckled. “Did you know there is a statue of me on the front of Erebor? It is taller than the gate. And some of the other kingdoms are doing the same. Now they want to give me my own holiday.”  
“You have become a hero to your people, surely you expected this.”  
“I did not,” Thorin sighed. “And it goes deeper than that. There are some who say that I was not Thorin Oakenshield, but Durin himself, reborn to restore the glory of our people. And others that say I now sleep beside him, in the Halls of Awaiting, to rise again in my people’s hour of need. Did you know Eldarion put up a statue of me in Gondor?”  
Kaylea smiled. “You did kind of save the planet.”  
“Blackwolf saved the planet,” Thorin scoffed. “A case could be made it was the Vorlons. The role I played was very small.”  
“Are you so uncomfortable being the hero, husband?” Kaylea turned to face him. “You really have changed. The Thorin Oakenshield I met on the road to Erebor would have carved that statue himself.”  
Thorin sat back, looking a bit chastised. “Is that really what you think of me?” He shook his head, his face thoughtful. “Ah, you are probably right.” He fell silent as he finished the two braids she wore that matched his, then got up and moved around the couch where he could work on the rest of her hair. “When I was growing up it was always impressed on me that I was the heir of Durin, one day I would be king. The sense of responsibility was a heavy burden for a young Dwarf to bear. And then came Moria and it all landed on my shoulders. I did well by my people, but I never thought of it as heroic, just what was expected of me.”  
“I remember that day after our first night together, walking through the city,” Kaylea said. “You wore the mantle of King so easily, you made it look natural. And your subjects clearly adored you.”  
“That was after the Battle of the Five Armies,” Thorin’s fingers worked her hair. “The Thorin Oakenshield who went into that battle would have built that statue, the one who came out was a changed man. The dragon-sickness gone, I felt I was seeing the world clearly for the first time.” He stopped, laying his hands on her shoulders and leaning over to see her face. “That was Pilot, wasn’t it?”  
Kaylea kept her face expressionless. In all the years that had passed since that day she had never told her husband it was the Kzin telepath that had cured him, though she knew he must have guessed. “Yes,” she said after a long moment. “Remember, I had not seen you in many months, since we parted at the Bruinen. Pilot said you were under some kind of delusion and I asked him to clean it up.”  
“When I first saw him, I felt like I knew him,” Thorin replied. “When I asked if we had met before, he said ‘In a way.’ I thought it was odd, but so many strange things happened to me that day I did not remark on it at the time.”  
“I’m sorry, my king,” Kaylea looked down at her hands. “My first impulse was only to help you. Pilot said he could ease your pain, but it was a violation of your privacy for him to be wandering around in your head, let alone making changes.”  
Thorin slid his arms around her, kissed her neck. “Do not apologize, my love! Without Pilot’s help I could never have become the king that Erebor needed. He freed me not only from dragon-sickness, but from all compulsive attachment to gold and riches. I never again looked on my treasury as anything other than a tool, a means to rebuild Erebor and increase its influence.”  
“I would not say you lost all attachment to gold and jewels,” Kaylea teased.  
“I did not say that,” Thorin grinned at her. “I still enjoy the way they look against my woman’s skin. I love to make beautiful things, but I do not covet them as I once did.” He straightened up and went back to work on her hair, falling silent again. It was some time before he was finished. As soon as she felt him attach the last bead to her braids Kaylea turned to face him, kneeling on the couch. She took hold of his hands and drew them against her breast, her eyes locked on his.  
“Now you will tell me what happened at this meeting that so weighs on your mind,” she told him.  
Thorin took a deep breath, looking down at his wife’s hands. “Freya’s husband has died of a sudden illness. You may remember her son fell out with his father years ago and now cannot be found.”  
Kaylea nodded. “Leaving only Freya and her daughter to rule in the Iron Hills.”  
Thorin frowned, now that he had finally told her Kaylea could see he was inwardly seething. “Some of the families want him declared dead. Her husband’s nearest relation is a cousin from the Blue Mountains she has never met. They want him as King in the Iron Hills.”  
“Crowns pass only to sons. That is the law.”  
Thorin eyes were blazing. “My daughter could rule her kingdom far better than any Dwarf who has been a miner all his life!”  
“You will get no argument from me,” Kaylea said. “But no woman has ever ruled a Dwarf kingdom.”  
Thorin dropped his hands and moved around to sit beside her again. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “I keep trying to convince myself that this is really not my problem, but I cannot abandon my daughter.”  
“The politics of the great families are no concern of a country blacksmith, and your daughter is old enough now to fight her own battles,” Kaylea said flatly. “Does Freya even want the crown? Surely the families will not expect her to marry this man. What do you know of her mind? Would she rather live out her days as princess of Erebor?”  
Thorin smiled. “I can tell you she has refused to step aside. Her representative at the meeting said she will not allow them to declare her son dead without proof. She has renewed the search for him and asked the other kingdoms for their help.”  
“Smart girl,” Kaylea smiled. “She has bought herself at least a year. Sounds like she will fight, not surprising considering who her father is.” Her brow furrowed. “A year is enough time to prove herself to her people, and prepare if this is to end in war.”  
“There will be no war if her son is found.”  
“Husband, this would be far too risky for us to undertake,” Kaylea said. “We cannot be recognized; it would undo our whole reason for coming here.”  
“I want to know what has become of my grandson,” Thorin said gravely. “If he is dead, then he must be returned to the halls of his fathers. If he lives, then he must be convinced to take up the mantle of king.” He took his wife’s hand, gently stroking the back with his thumb. “I have no wish to take part in the politics surrounding this, I only want to find my daughter’s son.” He gave Kaylea his best pleading look. “Will you not help me? Please?”  
“You are not playing fair!” Kaylea said sharply, clearly exasperated. “You know I can refuse you nothing when you look at me like that!”  
Thorin smiled at her. “Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”  
Kaylea shook her head. “This goes against my better judgement. If we are recognized, I get to say I told you so.”  
Thorin shrugged. “Fair enough. There are few who remember exactly what Thorin Oakenshield looked like now. The Dwarves of Erebor know me as Frerin, a distant relation of the king from the Ered Luin who now lives in the north. It would not be unusual for me to help in the search for his missing cousin.”  
“Then who shall I be? Should I dye my hair black and be an Elf?”  
“You cannot be an Elf,” Thorin frowned. “I would have to divorce you. And I forbid you to take out your braids.”  
“Ah, then I will sew a hijab and be a Southron.”  
“Mmmm…I have always wanted a slave girl,” Thorin smiled mischievously. “Tempting as that is, you already have an alias. My wife, the wild Northwoman who drives teams of dogs.” He chuckled at her dubious expression. “It is not so unusual for a Dwarf to marry a Human these days, though I have endured no end of teasing about it.”  
Kaylea laughed. “Your new identity also has a Human wife!”  
“Yes. No one dared question me when I was King, but now all I hear is: ‘at least you can reach the best parts’ and ‘how does a hairless woman keep you warm on those cold nights?’” Thorin grinned. “I expect they are more jealous than anything, there have never been enough Dwarf women to go around.”  
“Does this wife of yours have a name? What does she look like?”  
“Her name is Tara,” Thorin smiled. “She was quite wild when I found her, it took me a long time to tame her. She paints her face and has a pet wolf; she is still not quite domesticated.”  
“We certainly have that in common!” Kaylea pushed his shoulder. “Almost a hundred years since you handed over the throne of Erebor and you can still crush people with your majesty. Domestic is a word that will never apply to you!”  
“Like I have always said, we are made for each other,” Thorin leaned over and kissed her neck.  
“Do you know why your grandson left the Iron Hills?” Kaylea asked, returning to the matter at hand. “And are there any rumors of where he might have gone?”  
Thorin was quiet for a moment, sipping his beer and studying the fire. “I do not know Nain well, but he and his father never agreed about anything. I believe the final break between them came over a woman, someone his father wanted him to marry. The king sent many to search for him, but he was never found,” Thorin said. “I have an idea they may have been looking in the wrong places. Nain never took interest in traditional Dwarven pursuits, he preferred maps and books to hammer and anvil. He often talked about writing a history of our people.”  
“Are you sure he would want a crown? Scholars often do not make the best monarchs.”  
“He is not that kind of scholar,” Thorin smiled. “He is one of those that studies the lessons of the past. I had a most enlightening conversation with him once concerning the alliances between the families. I think his political skills might equal yours.”  
Kaylea took a deep breath. “So, we have no idea where he is and the trail is stone cold. If we are going to do this we have much to prepare.”


	2. An Unexpected Rescue

In the days when Bilbo Baggins was writing stories about dragons, Fornost was a small settlement at the end of the Great North Road. Now it was a thriving town of several thousand, fueled by the demand for coal and lumber from the Blue Mountains. Thorin and Kaylea passed unnoticed among the throng of tradesmen on the busy main street, lined with loaded wagons headed south. Thorin led the way down a quiet side street to the inn where he usually stayed. Soft beds, quality ale and sparkling clean, the Raven’s Roost had a well-deserved reputation as one of the town’s best. With his hair tied back, broad-brimmed felt hat and weather-beaten leather coat he could not look less like the King Under the Mountain. Kaylea was now a proper Northern shieldmaiden, her dark red hair a mass of fine braids adorned with rings and bear teeth, her face painted with stripes of woad. She wore green contacts and an easily reversable surgery had changed the shape of her nose and eyes. She drew a few curious looks, but Men here were used to Northerners. As they entered the inn Kaylea was surprised to see a Dwarf polishing glasses behind the bar. His face lit up when he saw Thorin.  
“Frerin, how good to see you again! What brings you back to my humble inn so soon?” The Dwarf asked, coming forward to shake Thorin’s hand.  
“This time I am on an errand for my kin,” Thorin said. “Looking for a lost cousin.”  
“Ah, do you mean the missing prince from the Iron Hills?” The innkeeper shook his head. “A sad business when sons fall out with fathers. I remember now you are of his family.”  
“News travels fast,” Thorin shrugged. “I am a very distant relation, but I thought I should do what I can. I don’t suppose you have seen him?”  
The innkeeper chuckled. “Most of the Dwarves who pass through Fornost stay here, but I do not remember any princes. How long has he been missing?”  
“Near twenty years.”  
“Well, I have owned this place for twenty-five. I am afraid I do not remember him.” The innkeeper frowned, shook his head. “Let me think on it for a bit.”  
“Why not just have a Queen in the Iron Hills?” Kaylea said, leaning on the bar. “It would save a lot of trouble.”  
“You may do such things in the North, but it is not our way,” he gave Kaylea an appraising glance. “And you must be Frerin’s wife,” he bowed formally. “Eren, son of Ered, at your service.”  
“And yours and your families,” Kaylea answered, inclining her head. “Tara, daughter of Tyr.”  
The Dwarf nodded his agreement at the proper response. “I am glad to meet you at last, my lady. I have heard so much about you!”  
“Nothing good, I hope,” Kaylea replied. Thorin socked her in the shoulder.  
Eren laughed and wagged a finger at her. “Your husband has never spoken an ill word about you, careful now or I will get the wrong impression!” He moved back around the counter and handed Thorin a key. “Your usual room.”  
Kaylea smiled at him. “Where is the nearest livery? We need to arrange for the horses.”  
“Just down the street,” Eren replied. “I can arrange it for you, it is no trouble.”  
Kaylea shook her head. “I will take care of it.” After much discussion they had brought their black Nihrain horses, it was a bit of a risk but their task would be even more difficult without the fast, tireless steeds. The wolves had come with them as well, but tonight they were up in the hills, far away from the lights of town.

The livery was one of the town’s original buildings, weathered but well kept. The owner was nowhere to be seen but a young stableboy showed them stalls for their horses and listened intently to Kaylea’s instructions for their care. As she settled them in the stalls Thorin collected their gear in a pile near the door. He was about to join his wife when he heard a strange noise and looked up at one of the largest wagons he had ever seen wobbling up the street. Drawn by a team of six it was completely enclosed, made of heavy timbers bound with metal, as secure as if it was carrying a treasury. The wobble was caused by one of the wheels, which looked as though it was in danger of falling off. As it pulled to a stop at the door Thorin surveyed the wagon’s escort, a driver and bowman on the seat, six guards on horses. The large, bearded man who swung down off his horse to confront the stableboy had the air of someone used to being obeyed.  
“Where is the blacksmith?” He asked, giving Thorin a quick glance. He was wearing the livery of Belfalas, much scuffed as if to remove the insignia.  
The boy shrugged. “You will find him drinking at the Black Swan. Or passed out under a table.”  
“Go and get him,” the former soldier said. “This wheel needs repaired.”  
The boy grinned. “I can find him, but he will be of no use for anything until at least tomorrow.”  
“I cannot wait until tomorrow,” the big man frowned. “I have to get this delivered, we have a timetable to meet.” He looked down at Thorin’s gear, spotted the farrier’s tools. “Are you a smith?”  
“I might be,” Thorin replied. “But this is not my shop and I did not plan to spend my evening mending wagon wheels.”  
“What’s it worth to you?” The man asked, bringing out a heavy purse. Thorin took a deep breath, considering. He had seen a couple of pre-made rounds on the wall, it was just a matter of reattaching a couple of spokes, the repair would be easy. He found himself very curious to see what was inside that wagon.  
“Fifty.”  
“Fifty! That is highway robbery!” The man exclaimed.  
“Wait till morning then,” Thorin bent to pick up his tools. He had named an outrageous price just to see how precious the cargo was, would the man take the bait?  
“Fine,” the man said with a frown, he handed over two heavy gold pieces.  
Thorin smiled inwardly, one was from Moria and had his face stamped on it. The other was from Gondor. He put them in his pocket. “I will need your men to help get some blocks under that wagon,” he looked at the stableboy. “Is the forge lit?”  
The boy nodded. “Yes, sir. It will take a few minutes to heat it up.”  
Kaylea emerged from the back of the barn and stopped beside Thorin, causing the men to stare. “What are you up to, husband?”  
“Making money,” Thorin replied. “Want to help get that wheel off?”  
Kaylea shook her head and stepped over to help lift the wagon. Thorin could see her eyes sweeping over it, knew she was also curious about the cargo. He took down one of the rounds from the wall and set to work knocking the metal ring off. The men stood talking among themselves.  
“This will take a bit,” Thorin told them. “Might as well get something to eat.”  
The big man nodded. “We cannot leave it unguarded. Four of us will go at a time.” He left with three of his men, the others stood talking by the horses.  
Kaylea came over to stand by Thorin. “Whatever is in there is light, the only weight was the wagon,” she said quietly.  
Thorin frowned, now even more curious. “Can you get the rest of them to leave?”  
“I have been listening, I think I have their range,” Kaylea replied. She stepped over to the group of men, modulating her voice carefully. “Go and get something to eat,” she told them. “Go the opposite way from the others.” The combination of the natural command in her voice and the voice control she was using was perfect, the men immediately headed down the street. Kaylea watched them go them climbed up the side of the wagon, looking for any cracks between the beams. Thorin was just about to put the new ring in the forge to size it when he saw Kaylea drop down, as her feet hit the ground the whole wagon shifted, like something very large was stirring within.  
“This thing is built tight,” she told him. “I want to know why they are in such a hurry.” She looked for the stableboy, saw he was giving feedbags to the horses.  
Thorin followed her as she climbed up and carefully picked the three padlocks on the back. She cracked the door open and slipped through, Thorin right behind her. What he saw when she clicked on her light flooded him with cold anger. It was one of the Great Eagles, legs and beak bound. Yellow eyes filled with malice.  
“Where is Radagast when you need him,” Kaylea said softly.  
Thorin knelt by the bird’s head. “In the days when I knew the Lord of Eagles they could speak the common tongue.” He looked into the great bird’s eyes, his voice grave. “I am Thorin Oakenshield, he who your kin aided not once, but twice, many years ago. Will you allow us to help you? Please give me a sign if you understand.”  
The bird’s eyes seemed to soften, it closed its eyes and curled its neck, then extended its beak toward Thorin. He carefully removed the leather straps, ready to jump back if the bird changed its mind.  
“The name of Thorin Oakenshield is known to us,” the bird said, its voice raspy. “Our king still wears the golden crown you made for us so long ago. If you help me now, I will be forever in your debt.”  
“Let’s get you out of this wagon before those guards come back,” Kaylea said, moving to unbind the bird’s legs.  
“My wing is broken,” the bird said, sadly. “Even if you get me out, I cannot fly.”  
“We can fix that,” Thorin said. “Is there anywhere he can stay out of sight in the building?”  
Kaylea nodded. “The hay storage is only half-full.”  
Thorin stood up. “I’ll get the wheel fixed. Take him back there and get this wagon locked up. When the freighters are gone we’ll get that wing repaired. It is probably safer if it is full dark before he flies out of here.”  
The eagle unsteadily got to its feet, even crouched down it filled the wagon. “How can you set my wing so that I can fly this night? It is not possible.”  
Thorin laid a hand on the bird’s neck. “Trust me, it can be done.”  
Kaylea leaned out the door of the wagon, scanning the street. There were few buildings on the edge of town, most of them businesses now closed for the night. The only thing moving in the evening light was dog sniffing for scraps down the street. They hustled the big bird out of his prison and into the livery, down to the back where he could hide among the piles of hay. The stableboy’s eyes went wide as dinner plates at the sight of the great eagle. Kaylea laid a hand on his shoulder.  
“Not a word, now,” she said quietly.  
The boy nodded vigorously. “I thought those were a myth,” he whispered. “They had that in the back of this wagon?”  
“Yes,” Kaylea answered. “We are going to set him free. If you plan on saying anything to the men when they come back, I will kill you. Do you understand?”  
The boy swallowed hard. “What are you going to set free? I didn’t see anything.”  
Kaylea grinned and patted him on the shoulder, then went to lock up the wagon. She made sure to coat the locks with road dust so they would look undisturbed.  
As Thorin had predicted the wheel was a quick fix, he was just pinning the new iron into place when the men came back. The big boss man gave the guards a dressing down for leaving the wagon unguarded, but seemed satisfied after checking the locks and being told they were only gone a few minutes. He inspected the wheel with a critical eye as they were getting ready to install it.  
“Very fine work,” he said grudgingly. “Almost worth the price.”  
Thorin chuckled. “I could do much better in my own shop, but it will not fail you again.”  
The men mounted their horses and soon the wagon was out of sight. Thorin and Kaylea hurried back to the great bird, laying amid the hay piles. Kaylea had brought him a trough of water, the stableboy was sitting nearby staring.  
“Go and keep watch,” Kaylea told him. “Let us know if you see the blacksmith coming back.” She set down her saddlebags and took out a flat square of metal.  
“This machine is going to look very strange,” Thorin told the bird. “But it has a kind of magic that can heal wounds instantly.” The bird gave a start as the field med-unit rose up on its spidery legs. “Which wing?”  
The bird extended the injured wing as best he could, there was more than one bone broken. The med-unit scuttled over and set to work, cleaning the wounds, applying anesthetic, setting and gluing the fragments of bone into place. The eagle watched it warily.  
“Was this broken wing the reason you were captured?” Thorin asked.  
“No, that was my own fault,” the bird replied. “The Men set out a carcass and lay in wait, when I flew close to take a look they shot my wings with many arrows, I fell from the sky and woke bound as you found me.” The eagle closed his eyes. “My mistake to try for an easy meal instead of hunting for myself, as I have been taught.”  
“Do you know where they were taking you?” Kaylea asked.  
“I heard them speak of some Southern collector who has offered a princely sum for one of my kind. The ship sails for his country soon, that was their reason for haste. That and they were worried I might die before they could get their payment.”  
“They have given you no food, or water?”  
The bird moved his head side to side. “They were too afraid to unbind my beak. Not without reason.” His yellow eyes regarded Kaylea and Thorin curiously. “But how do you come to be here? Word had come to us that Thorin Oakenshield was dead. Gave his life to save the land from a great darkness.”  
Thorin smiled at the great bird. “I would appreciate it if you would keep it between us, I only revealed myself because I needed you to trust me quickly. Thorin Oakenshield is gone, I am Frerin, son of Fror, now. This is my wife, Tara, daughter of Tyr.”  
“A blacksmith. Not much of a disguise,” the bird sounded amused. “I am Khrusos, the Windseeker. And why are you here in the North?”  
“We live here. We are on our way to aid in the search for my missing grandson.”  
The eagle drew itself up. “Then I will aid you in your search, as you have aided me.”  
Thorin shook his head. “Thank you for your kind offer, but my actions today were to repay the debt I owe to your kind.”  
“That debt is long ago repaid,” Khrusos said. “I will help you, if I can. Do not forget we are the lords of all the birds, we can call many eyes to search for your grandson.”  
“I had not thought of that!” Thorin exclaimed softly. “You can send word to the ravens, as well.”  
“It would be much easier to send a message through one of them than for me to come myself,” the bird seemed to smile with his eyes. “Where shall we start to search?”  
“I wish I could tell you. He has been missing for twenty years.”  
“There are not many who understand you can hide in plain sight, as we do,” Kaylea said. “He will be a Dwarf in a place where Dwarves are not usually found.”  
“And he has no love of the usual Dwarven pursuits,” Thorin added. “He will be doing something Dwarves do not usually do.”  
The eagle nodded gravely just as the med-unit gave a whistle indicating it was done. Kaylea stepped over to look at the readouts. “The machine will need to give you some potions. One to speed your healing, one for energy so you can fly home. It will need to touch your side.”  
The bird partially extended his wing, his eyes surprised. “It feels good as new!” The med-unit probed between the bird’s breast feathers, there was the hiss of three injections. Kaylea put the unit back on its carrier and powered it off. The stable was dark now, only a couple of lights were lit at the front. The stableboy backed up against the wall at the sight of the great eagle walking up the breezeway. Kaylea motioned Khrusos to stop and stepped out to scan the street. All was dark and quiet, bathed in pale moonlight. The bird walked out into the street and tested its wings, the wind raising great clouds of dust. Then he turned and did a sort of bow to Thorin.  
“Thank you for all you have done, your majesty,” the bird said solemnly. “I owe you a debt that I can only hope to repay. Know that the keen eyes of the eagles will be with you in your search. Farewell, wherever you fare! Till your eyries receive you at the journey’s end.”   
Thorin bowed low. “May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.” The eagle nodded his head solemnly and flew up into the night.   
“That’s not something you see every day,” the stableboy said, awe in his voice.  
Kaylea stepped forward and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Once those men find that wagon empty it will not take them long to remember where they left it unattended. Time to find another job, a long way from here.”  
The boy looked embarrassed. “I have never liked this town. I want to go to Gondor, but that takes money.”  
Thorin took the two gold pieces out of his pocket. “Now you do. And this should be enough for you to forget everything you saw and heard here tonight. Leave soon.” 

Back at the inn Thorin and Kaylea got quite an earful from Ered, who thought it very amusing it had taken them several hours to arrange a stable for their horses just down the street. Since it was so late he set out dinner at a table in their room.  
“I have been thinking about this missing prince,” Ered said as he put down the plates. He took out a gold coin and handed it to Thorin. It was an old mint from the Iron Hills, from Dain Ironfoot’s time. “That is the only one of those I have even seen. We never see coin from the Iron Hills this far out, and that is an old one.”  
Thorin turned it over in his fingers before handing it back. “Who gave it to you?”  
“A young Dwarf, wouldn’t give his name,” the innkeeper said. “This would have been near twelve years ago, or thereabouts. I remember him, not only because of the coin but he was traveling by himself, and he had no tools with him. Just a satchel full of sketchbooks.”  
“Did he say where he was going?” Kaylea asked.  
“He looked like a tradesman but when I asked him if he was looking for work and he said no, which was also very odd. I know he left town with some lumber merchants headed for the Ered Luin. I’m afraid that is all I can tell you.”  
“So, now we must decide,” Kaylea said, when the landlord had left. “Do we continue south to Gondor, or turn north to the Ered Luin? If he is truly interested in the history of the Dwarves he could not resist the libraries of Minas Tirith.”  
Thorin turned his glass with his fingers thoughtfully. “We do not know that this Dwarf was Nain, but the description fits and the timing is right. There are certainly not many Dwarves out wandering the country who are not looking for work. If he did go to the Blue Mountains, it is also possible he never left. And I would very much like to know why those kingdoms are interested in the succession in the Iron Hills. I say we go north.” 

The meal was indeed excellent and after a welcome bath Kaylea slipped between the soft sheets, she relaxed and closed her eyes, thinking she might get some sleep tonight. She heard Thorin come out of the bathroom, and turned on her side to watch him. She let her eyes travel over his naked body, his muscles sculpted from years of training and hard work.  
“Do you like what you see?” Thorin asked, toweling his hair.  
“Mmmmm…get over here and I will show you how much.”  
Thorin grinned and took his time drying his hair, enjoying making her wait. “Next time, you take the first bath. I’m not letting you have all the fun.” He reached to turn out the lamp. “I don’t often say this, but you look tired, my love.”  
Kaylea took a deep breath. “It has been a long day, with giant talking birds and all.”  
“I was nice to rescue one of them, for a change,” Thorin said, as he slipped into bed beside her. “And it certainly won’t hurt to have their keen eyes looking for my grandson.”  
Kaylea relaxed as he took her in his arms and pulled her against him, inhaling his clean scent, the feel of his warm body against hers, the way their bodies fit so precisely together. She intertwined her legs with his, enjoying the brush of the soft hairs on his legs.  
“Why have you taken to turning the lights off all of a sudden?” She asked.  
“I haven’t got used to this new look of yours,” Thorin answered softly, between kisses down her neck. “In the dark I know your scent, your taste. With the lights on I feel like I am making love to a strange woman.”  
Kaylea smiled at him, letting her fingers travel over his back. “Most men would enjoy that.”  
“I am not most men,” Thorin replied, as he disappeared underneath the covers.


	3. The Queen & The Bard

Freya heard her daughter shift her feet, saw she was slouching, turning her bracelet on her wrist, her attention wandering during the long eulogy.  
“Do not fidget,” she whispered to her. “Stand up straight. Remember who you are.”  
She saw Enya draw herself up, her face composed. As Thror finished his speech the heavy lid of the intricately carved tomb was placed over her husband’s body. Freya felt the weight of that stone as if it had landed on her own shoulders. With her husband laid to rest, now the fight would begin. It had not been lost on her that the Seven Families had met first in Erebor to consider the succession before even coming to the Iron Hills. She was not about to hand the throne to some unknown cousin, not when her son might still be alive, and if it was proved he was dead she planned to rule herself. The thought made her smile, she would show the families that a woman could rule as well as any man.  
Freya felt a hand on her arm and looked up to meet her brother Durin’s eyes. He had arrived just before the service and they had not had time to speak. The sight of him always gave her a bit of a turn, he looked so much like their father. The same eyes, the shape of his face. Except for his hair, which he wore shorn short on the sides, and the long beard tucked into his belt, it could be Thorin himself standing before her.  
“We need to talk,” he said quietly.  
“We have a few hours before the wake,” she replied, keeping her voice low.  
The King of Moria nodded. “Your apartments, in an hour. I will tell Thror.” He moved off to greet the representatives from the other families.  
Freya and her daughter began the long walk up from the crypt to the palace above. Lining the passages were many citizens of the city, all bowed soberly as she passed. King Borin had been popular with his people; he had been a hard man, uncompromising, but a just and skillful ruler who had brought much prosperity to the Iron Hills. Today had made her remember him when they had first met, so handsome and gentlemanly. When they were courting he was always bringing her little favors and complimenting her dresses. He had quite swept her off her feet, and her father had thought it an excellent match. Now it made her sad to think about. She had dreamed of being loved the way her father loved his warrior Woman – absolute, unwavering, a love that only grew stronger as the years passed. Kaylea Wolf warned her that this King of the Iron Hills could never love her that way, but Freya had been young, and headstrong, and thought her father’s mistress was wrong. It was many years before she finally admitted to herself Kaylea had been right.  
As they came to her daughter’s door, the girl suddenly turned and embraced her, sobbing quietly into her dress. Freya hugged her and let her cry. Her daughter had been very close to Borin, in the same way she had been close to her own father. Having fallen out of love with her husband years ago, her own eyes remained dry.  
“Shush now,” she told her, after a long moment. “You must put on a brave face tonight, do your family proud.”  
When she approached her own apartments Freya saw a familiar figure step out of an archway and bow to her: Tivan, the King’s Bard. While Borin had never been a great lover of music, Freya could sit and listen to the bard sing for hours; he had such a beautiful voice. She also never tired of looking at him, so young and handsome, with his sparkling green eyes and mane of yellow hair. He had become a good friend and confidant over the years, always ready to cheer her with a smile or a happy tune when she was feeling low. Sometimes the looks he gave her made her heart flutter, and she had to remind herself she was far too old for girlish crushes.  
“Tivan, have you come to play me a tune?” She asked, acknowledging his bow with a nod.  
“I will certainly play if you ask it, your majesty,” the bard replied. “I know today was a hard one, I came to offer you my shoulder, if you have need of one.”  
“Thank you, but you know today is the end of my grieving for my husband,” she said with a smile. She put her hand on the door and was about to go inside when a sudden thought struck her. She turned back to the bard. “Why are you here, really?”  
Tivan looked surprised. “As I said, to offer my support. I want you to know you can count on me, whatever you choose to do.”  
“You already know I have renewed the search for my son,” Freya frowned. “Why come to me on the day my husband is laid to rest?”  
Tivan looked at the floor. “I am sorry if I am intruding, your majesty.” His eyes came up to meet hers, he gave her an impish smile. “Please forgive your poor servant, but do remember him if you happen to need some company later this evening.”  
Freya opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Surely he didn’t mean... “Oh, away with you, silly boy!” She told him. “Go and practice for tonight!”  
The bard winked at her and bowed low with a wide smile. “As you command, my queen.”  
Freya closed the door to her apartments and leaned against it, closing her eyes. She and Tivan had engaged in their fair share of banter over the years, but that was all. His manner was somehow different tonight, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. I’m old enough to be his mother, for Mahal’s sake! Freya shook her head. He has to be teasing.  


Freya admired the dress she had ordered for the wake in the mirror as her handmaids helped her get ready, glad this was the last time she had to wear her mourning clothes. Her dressmaker had remarked that at least she had the figure to wear white. Freya worked hard to keep a slim figure, ever over her mother’s objections. Queen Shurri had been the very picture of Dwarven beauty and had fussed at her to eat more and fill out her dresses, but she preferred to be thin and fit, like Kaylea Wolf, who she so admired. When she was little Freya dreamed of being just like her: strong and fearless, wise and beautiful, riding off to great adventures on her black horse with her great grey wolf. Thinking about her brought up thoughts of her father. The loss still pained her, though he had been gone almost fifty years. She knew Thorin had given his life to save Middle Earth, and he had died with Kaylea beside him. That is how he would have wanted to go, in battle, with the woman he loved, but still she missed him fiercely. She so wished he was here now to guide her.  
A knock on the door disturbed her reverie, it was her oldest brother Thror. She motioned a servant to let him in and get him a drink while she finished dressing. When she had dismissed her maids she went into her sitting room to join him. He had gained some weight since the last time she saw him; he had always been a bit on the heavy side, unlike his athletic younger brother. His countenance was also more like their mother’s, the slightly upturned nose and oval face.  
“Where is Durin?” She asked, taking a seat next to him.  
“Still taking the measure of the other families, I presume,” Thror replied. His younger brother was a far better politician than he was, he could put his finger on the pulse of a problem almost immediately. “How are you holding up?”  
Freya smiled. “I will not give up the throne of the Iron Hills without a fight.”  
Thror nodded. “You should not have to fight for it, in my opinion.” He frowned. “I think a few of the families will support you.”  
“Let us hope my son is found,” Freya said. “That will take the fire out of their furnace.” She turned at another knock, her brother Durin. He stepped into her sitting room and gave her a hug.  
“It is good to see you, sister,” he said, looking her up and down. “Even in white, you are a vision. How are things in the Iron Hills?”  
“Prosperous,” Freya answered, going to the sideboard to fetch her brother a drink.  
“I’ve been sounding out the other families,” Durin said, settling himself on the couch. “The Ered Luin will not support you.”  
“Because I am a woman.”  
Durin smiled. “That is part of the reason, but not all of it. It is because of our father.”  
“Because the Seven Families do not want the children of Thorin Oakenshield on the thrones of all three of the richest kingdoms,” Thror said quietly, almost to himself.  
Durin nodded. “I cannot tell yet what the Grey Mountains will do, they should support you because of our mother. I think we can woo the Forochel, but the Blue Mountains are pushing hard for this cousin. They do not want to wait on the search for your missing son.”  
“Why? What is their interest in the Iron Hills?” Freya was mystified.  
“That is the question to which I do not have an answer yet, but I will. We need to know how this cousin on the throne benefits them.” Durin looked into his glass thoughtfully. “The cities of the Ered Luin have been losing population ever since Erebor and Moria were reclaimed. It is all villages of Men along those mountains now, perhaps they have finally admitted their cities are unsustainable.”  
“Our people do not easily abandon their works,” Thror said gravely. “Those cities are many centuries old, the first of our people in this land. I cannot believe they would abandon them unless some great calamity had befallen them.”  
Durin waved his hand dismissively. “The same calamity has been felt by us all, Dwarves are simply not numerous enough to compete with Men.”  
“It would have to be more than that,” Thror frowned at him. “The only reason they would leave is if they were driven out, if the cities were suddenly uninhabitable.”  
“But if something has befallen them, a great sickness or their halls have collapsed, they need only ask for help,” Freya said. “We would be happy to offer them a home amongst us. There is no need to conspire for the throne.”  
“Unless they are playing a different game,” Durin said.  
“What do you mean? They want something from the Iron Hills only the crown will grant them?” Freya frowned at her brother, trying to fit the pieces together in her head. The crown would mean command over all in the Iron Hills. Her eyes went wide. “Do you mean they want my army?”  
“With their own forces and the fabled might of the Iron Hills, they would be strong enough to take Erebor, maybe even Moria,” Durin met his sister’s eyes, his face grim.  
“You cannot be serious!” Thror exclaimed. “The army of the Iron Hills would never march against their kin in Erebor!”  
Durin shrugged. “We are only discussing possibilities.” He turned toward Freya. “Have you arranged a marriage for your daughter yet? You may be able to stall them if they think they have a chance to put one of their princes on the throne.”  
“My daughter is barely of age!” Freya was shocked her brother would even suggest such a thing.  
“We are trying to avoid a war. You may need to offer them something.”  
“My daughter is not going to marry someone she does not love,” Freya crossed her arms and glared at her brother.  
Durin laughed. “Did you love your husband? Did Thorin love our mother?”  
“Don’t you love your wife?” Freya shot back.  
Durin shrugged. “Love has very little to do with it. She is from a distinguished family, she has given me an heir, she gets all the jewels and dinner parties she wants.”  
“Peace, brother!” Thror exclaimed. “We all watched our father endure a loveless marriage, our sister simply does not want her daughter to repeat his mistake.”  
Durin glared at him. “It was not a mistake. The other families would never have accepted half-breed children as the heirs of Durin, they would have marched to war.” He tossed back his drink and held up his empty glass. “But enough ancient history. Tell me what steps you have taken to find this missing son of yours.”  
Freya looked pointedly at Durin’s glass until he got up himself to refill it. She was a little annoyed that her brother seemed to think of her as a servant. He was king of the richest and largest kingdom of the Dwarves, but she was a Queen, too. “I have sent riders in all directions, to spread the word. I have offered a large reward for news of his whereabouts, enough to get Men looking for him as well as Dwarves. There is no news yet, but it is early days. I wish I had some idea where he went.”  
Freya leaned her head on Thror’s shoulder, he put a hand on her knee. “He will be found,” he told her.  
“I only hope he is found alive,” Freya said wistfully. She hoped that he would be, but knew she must be prepared for the worst. “When he left Borin sent many Dwarves to search for him, and they never found any sign. All I can think is we must be looking in the wrong places.”  
Durin snorted. “Where do you look for a Dwarf has no interest in forging or working metal? Perhaps he has found work as a fishmonger.”  
“Durin, be nice,” Thror told him. He disliked the way his little brother sometimes talked down to their sister. Durin had never been able to get past how their father had favored his only daughter. Even though Thorin had handed him the crown of Moria over his eldest son, Durin still liked to needle her. Thror had never had his brother’s ambition, his father had told him from the first he would succeed to the throne in Erebor and he had tried to do his father proud. All he had ever wanted for his little sister was to be happy. He hoped however this ended that she found joy again, it had so long been absent from her life. He was about to further admonish his brother when there was the sound of bells from the halls below.  
“Time for dinner,” Freya said, getting to her feet. “Let us present a united front.” 

From his place in the gallery Tivan watched his Queen as she made her way into the long dining hall on the arm of the King of Erebor. He had not seen that dress before, she must have had it made just for this occasion. High-waisted, elegantly embroidered and adorned with tiny white gems that sparkled in the lamplight, she outshone all the other ladies of the court. The Queen was always reminding him she was an old lady, but she was barely a hundred and twenty and looked much younger. Tivan remembered well the first time he had seen her, back when he was plying his trade in Moria. He had happened to be near the gate when the carriage from the Iron Hills arrived. Curious, he had gone to offer a hand to the occupants, unprepared for the beauty who set her hand in his and stepped down from her seat. He remembered every detail, her slim figure, her dark hair caught back in a single braid, her clothes elegant but unadorned, so different from other noblewomen. But it was her violet eyes that had practically stopped his heart, so full of kindness, and steel, and deep sadness. She had smiled at him, leaving her hand in his just a moment longer than was really necessary. That smile inspired him to write some of what would become his most popular love songs. Later, he even got to sing a few of them for her at one of the King’s feasts. When the King of the Iron Hills made him a sizable offer, Tivan agreed at once. He would have done it for much less, to have such a beautiful muse.  
As she crossed the hall the Queen looked up at Tivan. He was rewarded with a small smile, before she leaned over to say something to her brother. The tiara of white stones she was wearing tonight reminded him of the one she had worn when he painted her portrait a few years ago. Those were some of his happiest memories, they had talked for hours as he painted and after remained close friends. Tivan secretly hoped they might one day become more than that, it had not taken him long to see that she and the King were estranged. But while they often traded good-natured banter, the Queen was careful that nothing improper passed between them. She had no doubt taken a lesson from her father’s rather scandalous behavior.  
The grand hall was full to bursting with the royal guests who had come to see the King laid to rest. The tables groaned under platters laden with all manner of delicacies, casks of fine ales and great slabs of meat, the fine crystal and silver reflecting the light of roaring hearths. Freya took her place in the King’s seat, with her brothers on either side, and raised a toast to begin the feast. The Queen did know how to make an impression; the three children of Thorin Oakenshield seated together at the same table. Let the other kingdoms chew on that. The bard knew he was not alone in wanting to see her take the throne of the Iron Hills herself. He was not so sure her son was even interested, if he was still alive.  
Tivan had known Nain when the prince came to Moria years ago. The two of them found much in common, as neither was interested in traditional Dwarven pursuits. For Tivan it was his music, and his painting. For Nain it was books. The prince had an encyclopedic knowledge of Dwarven history and could talk for hours about the families and how they all fitted together. The two of them would walk around the city and Nain would point out carvings and talk about their meaning. Tivan liked to tease him he was going to be the only Dwarven king known for his library instead of his treasury. Nain seemed ambivalent about a crown; he never talked about it, only about his desire to see all the kingdoms and learn their traditions. He would never discuss why he had left his home, Tivan had heard the rumors it was about a woman but it was really not his business.  
Early one morning after he had been in Moria for several years Nain knocked on his door dressed as a common tradesman, the hood of his homespun cloak over his head. He was going west, he said, to see the kingdoms of the Ered Luin, would Tivan come with him? The bard had done more than his share of living in the rough, and his star was rising in Moria. He did not want to give up his comfortable life for months of sleeping on the hard ground out in the weather. Nain seemed disappointed, but he understood. In parting, he asked Tivan to swear an oath to tell no one where he had gone. The bard thought it was an odd thing to ask, but he valued their friendship and swore. That had been fifteen years ago.  
As the evening wore on, the bard and his fellow musicians strolled about the hall, playing requests when they got them and entertaining the guests who were soon gathering in groups, as was the custom at Dwarven parties. They had many requests for love songs from the ladies, Tivan’s fellow musicians often teased him the women wouldn’t even look their way when he was around. Tivan always collected a few room keys with his tips, though he had not used one in many years. Throughout the evening the talk of succession seemed to be on everyone’s lips. There was much speculation about how quickly the armies of Moria and Erebor would march to support the Queen. It gave the bard a shock, he could not believe there was talk of war already, when the renewed search for the prince had only just started. He was glad to hear Lord Trond, who commanded the armies of the Iron Hills, loudly declare his loyalty to the Queen. “I will do all in my power to make sure she remains on the throne,” Tivan heard him say, to much nodding and agreement from the lords who made up the King’s Council.  


Long past midnight, after his part in the wake was over, Tivan took a stroll through the quiet streets as was his custom to relax after a night of performing. He strolled out to the rampart over the gate, paused to look at the foothills marching off to the south. It was a pleasant night, but the air had the chill of winter soon to come. He felt his purse heavy on his belt and decided to count out his tips, knowing he had done well this evening. As he was organizing the coins he felt someone approaching and was startled to see it was the Queen. She had set her jewelry aside and was wearing a fur-trimmed cloak over her white gown, closed tight at her neck against the evening air.  
“Your majesty,” Tivan jumped to his feet, bowing low.  
“It seems we are both restless tonight,” Freya smiled at him. “Now it is my turn to apologize for disturbing you.”  
“You will never in your life have reason to apologize to me, my queen,” Tivan said quickly. “I was just thinking how much this view would be improved by your presence.”  
Freya laughed. “Careful! You will make me blush,” she leaned on the rampart, looking at the view. “Perhaps I needed your company tonight after all.”  
Tivan joined her, careful to keep a respectful distance. “I am honored to aid you in any way I can.”  
They stood for a moment in silence, a cool breeze came up over the hills, bringing the scent of brown grass and damp earth. Freya straightened and pulled her cloak closer about her. Tivan had to grab the stone to keep himself from stepping over to put his arm around her, to pull her close to his body’s warmth. It was not his place to touch her without permission.  
“My brother reminded me that you knew my son when he lived in Moria,” the Queen said. “I remember you talking about it before. Tell me again, what did you do together?”  
Tivan was happy to talk as long as she would listen. He told her about the walks they had taken around the great city, about Nain’s fascination with the history of their people, how he had made a particular study of Freya’s father, the great King Thorin Oakenshield.  
“I think he knew everything your father ever did,” Tivan said.  
“Not everything,” Freya replied. “There were years he spent in Dorsai, Kaylea’s land. We do not know what he did there, only that he was changed by it.”  
“Changed? In what way?”  
Freya took a deep breath, her eyes far away. “My father was a very hard man, but I could always sense the little bit of softness he held deep inside. When he came back from the Dorsai it was gone. He had become like her, steel all the way through.”  
Tivan had always been curious about Kaylea Wolf, he knew many songs about her great deeds, most spoke of her great beauty but little about the warrior herself. “What was she like, the King’s Woman?” He asked.  
“She was all the things you have heard, and many others besides.” Freya smiled at the memory. “It is hard to know where to begin. She was so very different from anyone I have ever known.”  
“Is it true she was like one of the Elves?”  
“Kaylea was a bit like them, like she came from some other world. Not the same world as the Fair Folk, though she was as beautiful as one. Hers was about the deadly arts, about training to perfection. She commanded armies in her own land and when she spoke men jumped to obey, even in silks you could tell she was a deadly fighter. And she was as wise as a wizard, she had a way of knowing what you were thinking and she would ask questions that always cut straight to the heart of the matter. When he came back from her land, my father was the same.”  
This made Tivan remember something else about Thorin Oakenshield, the rumors that Kaylea had used some kind of magic to stop him from ageing. “Forgive me, but wasn’t your father quite old when he went to her land?”  
Freya laughed. “Yes, he was near three hundred. But until the last time I saw him, my father never looked older than a Dwarf of eighty. He was truly deathless,” her eyes grew sad. “Until he died.”  
Again, Tivan had to stop himself from laying a hand on hers, to put his arm around her and comfort her. “I am sorry, I did not mean to bring up painful memories.”  
“It was quite a long time ago now,” the Queen voice was wistful. “But I still miss him every day.”  
“I do not think you can ever get over the death of your father,” Tivan said. “Nor should you.”  
Freya turned toward him with a weak smile, she laid her hand on his and gave it a quick squeeze. “Thank you,” she said. Tivan grasped her hand and held it for a moment before she pulled it back to adjust her cloak around her. “I think I will turn in now, thank you for the company.”  
“My queen…,” Tivan began, before he could stop himself and instantly regretting it. His heart was pounding from the touch of her hand. Freya was looking at him, waiting for him to go on. He shook his head. “It is nothing. Sleep well.”  
The Queen was studying him closely now. “Tivan, this is the second time today you have given me reason to questions your intentions. I command you to speak plainly.”  
Tivan knelt down on one knee, his head bowed. “I beg of you, do not ask that of me, your majesty. I am forever your faithful servant. Please forgive me if I have let our friendship make me forget my place.”  
Freya paused, studying him for a long moment before answering. “Very well, I will let it pass this time. But once more and I will have you speak.” She turned and walked back toward her rooms.  
Tivan took a deep breath as he rose to his feet. He chided himself for not being in better control of himself, the last thing he wanted was for Freya to send him from her presence. He made his way back to his quarters thinking that it had suddenly occurred to him he might know where to find Nain. He wanted to do it himself, for his Queen. It would mean leaving the Iron Hills, but he might not have to be gone for long. Lying in bed that night he fell asleep imagining the smile on his Queen’s face when he returned with her long-lost son.


	4. The Army of Angmar

Thorin and Kaylea now traveled north from Fornost, the broken plains of Arnor stretching out around them as they skirted the North Downs and headed for the gap in the Angmar Mountains that would take them to Forodwaith. The last time they had journeyed this way seventy years ago there was no sign of habitation, now they came upon occasional herds of cattle and sheep and there was a well-used road marked with cairns. Occasionally the plains were broken by sudden stream-carved ravines of red rock, along the waterways groves of white-barked trees, their leafless branches creaking in the breeze. Thorin and Kaylea fell easily into the traveling routine they had perfected many years ago, when they had often ridden the paths of Middle Earth together. Nowadays they usually traveled separately, to avoid being recognized. Kaylea to trade furs and dogs and Thorin to buy materials from the Dwarven kingdoms. Thorin realized how much he had missed it, making love under the stars, waking up to sweeping sunrises with strong Dorsai coffee. For the last fifty years he had what he always wanted, Kaylea all to himself. He loved their comfortable life together, he regretted having to leave it, but at the same time it was invigorating to be on the road with her again, to travel seldom-used paths, to feel the sense of adventure. It brought up many good memories, and a few sad ones. 

Thorin was thoughtful as they rode through the bright late fall day. The sun warm on his face, the sky blue and cloudless, as if mocking the winter that was soon to come. He wondered what they would find in the Ered Luin. He and Kaylea had asked around Fornost before they left. Several times the reply had been that there were no Dwarves in the Blue Mountains anymore.  
“They all left after those dragons showed up,” one lumberman told them. “Or got eaten.”  
Kaylea had laughed at him. “There are no dragons in Middle Earth! Someone has told you a tall tale!”  
The man shrugged. “My father said he used to see Dwarves every now and then, in the towns. They would come down to trade. Then one day there was fire up in the mountains, and the earth shook, many times. That was nigh on fifty years ago, now we don’t see Dwarves anymore.”  
“If those cities are sitting empty, surely someone has gone to explore them,” Thorin said, as lightly as he could. “There must be gold and jewels just lying around.”  
“Yeah, lying around under a dragon,” the man replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know anyone insane enough to take on one of those. Do you?”  
Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but a warning glance from Kaylea stopped him. There were still dragons in Middle Earth, but none had been seen so far south since Smaug, almost two centuries ago. The cities could have been destroyed by earthquakes, though they were rare in Middle Earth. What concerned him was that no word of this had reached the other Dwarf kingdoms. He was in Erebor once a year to buy steel, if dragons had destroyed Belegost it would be the talk of the city. At the meeting of the families their representatives acted as if nothing had changed, where were they living if not in the Blue Mountains?  
“I wish we had met that eagle after we knew we were heading to the mountains,” Kaylea said as her horse trotted up beside him. “It would be nice to know what we are walking into.”  
“I was thinking the same,” Thorin replied. “If we at least knew what the entrances to the cities look like, we could make a guess at what we are going to find.”  
“Do you think it is a dragon?”  
“It could be, they have destroyed our kingdoms before,” Thorin shook his head. “But that was in an earlier age.” 

Traveling through the wide valley between the Angmar mountains they followed a road that skirted the slope. In places it seemed just a rough track, but in others the signs of fitted stone appeared underfoot. In olden times this had been the realm of the Witch King, perhaps it was the remnants of a road between his watchtowers. In the late afternoon they stopped to water the horses beside a slow-moving stream, as Thorin checked the straps on their gear Kaylea studied the tracks leading up from the streambed.  
“There have been many boots on this road.” Kaylea knelt on the hard dirt, her fingers feeling the edges of the barely visible prints. She looked up at her wolf, sniffing at the muddy edges of the road. Aeneas met her gaze with his yellow eyes. “Dwarves.”  
“What would Dwarves be doing here?” Thorin frowned, looking around. The Angmar mountains were far from any of the kingdoms.  
Kaylea swung up on her horse. “We will find out soon enough. Aeneas says they are not far ahead.”  
Past the stream the trees grew thicker, standing in great groves between meadows of brown grass and jumbled stone. They came to a place where the road squeezed between massive boulders, as they approached three Dwarves stepped into the gap. As Thorin and Kaylea halted their horses a group of six more stepped onto the road behind them.  
“Go back,” one of the Dwarves said, planting his axe in front of him. “This way is closed.”  
Thorin dismounted and walked forward. “Even to a kinsman?” He asked in Khuzdul.  
There was the hiss of indrawn breath from the Dwarves around them. “It is a rare Dwarf tall enough to ride a horse,” the Dwarf said softly. “What is your name?”  
Kaylea could feel Thorin stiffen. “Why must I give my name to ride on a road that should be open to all?”  
“This road is closed,” said one of the Dwarves from behind them. He moved forward to confront Thorin. “What is your business? Why will you not give your name?”  
“We have an urgent errand in the Ered Luin,” Kaylea said in Khuzdul. “Turning back to the other road will lose us half a day. Let us ride through, we mean you no harm.”  
“The Ered Luin? I wish I was riding with you,” said the Dwarf who had first spoken, sorrow in his voice. The second Dwarf waved him to silence.  
Thorin studied the Dwarf in front of him. He was from the Blue Mountains, though he could see some of the others were from the Ered Mithrin. He wore the insignia of Belegost on his worn breastplate, his manner one of a soldier who had seen many campaigns. “My name is Frerin, son of Fror,” Thorin said. “My wife Tara and I are searching for a kinsman of mine.”  
“I am Born, son of Bern,” the Dwarf replied. “Since this woman you name as your wife is a Northwoman, can I assume you are not a follower of Vidar?”  
“I assure you I am not,” Thorin said, with one of his withering glares. “And if you wish to keep your head, you will not speak ill of my wife.”  
“I meant no offense,” Born said quickly. “It is not a common thing, not on this side of the Misty Mountains anyway.” He studied Thorin quietly for a moment. “If you are of that illustrious family, we have no quarrel with you. You may pass freely.”  
“What is happening here?” Thorin asked, looking at the Dwarves around him. They were not only a mix of the two kingdoms, but also a mix of professions. Soldiers, miners, jewelry-makers.  
“That is not so quickly answered. These are dark times for our people,” Born shook his head, then smiled at Thorin. “Please forgive my questions, kinsman! Come and dine with us, you can hear our story and perhaps you will tell me yours.”  
Thorin smiled. “I admit I am too curious to refuse. You have a place for our horses?”  
“Yes. Those wolves though…,” Born eyed the animals now standing at Kaylea’s side. “I have heard the Northmen keep them as pets, I never believed it.”  
Kaylea laughed. “The best hunting partners you could ask for!” She laid a hand on each of their heads, the wolves turned and trotted off quickly disappearing among the trees. “They prefer the forest to stone halls. Ask your men not to shoot any wolves this night.”  
Now Born led the way, Thorin and Kaylea following leading their horses. The forest was thicker on the other side of the stones, the shorter pines replaced with tall, straight fir trees. The road was in better repair here, wide and even, the stones worn by centuries of use.  
“Do you support the Queen?” One of the Dwarves from the Grey Mountains asked Thorin suddenly. Born frowned at him, but the Dwarf only glared back. “It is not wrong to ask!”  
“Of which Queen are we speaking?” Thorin asked.  
“Vidar says it is his right to rule in the Iron Hills, but we know there is a queen there,” the Dwarf said. “The daughter of Thorin Oakenshield. Her brothers are both great kings, surely she can rule her own kingdom just as well.”  
“Titles pass only to sons, Master Dwarf,” Kaylea said dryly. “That is the law of your people.”  
“Maybe it is time the law was changed,” a second Dwarf grumbled. “It is said in the north women rule over men.”  
“Indeed they do. Many clans will only have a woman,” Kaylea smiled at Thorin’s scowl.  
“Our traditions cannot be so easily set aside,” Thorin said.  
“Why not?” The first Dwarf demanded. “Many other things have changed since the First Age. Why not this?”  
Thorin shook his head. “You misunderstand me, Master Dwarf. I believe Queen Freya would be a wise and generous ruler, every bit the equal of her brothers. It is not me you need to convince; it is the heads of the Seven Families.”  
“This Vidar you speak of is the cousin of King Borin?” Kaylea asked. “The one who plans to inherit the Iron Hills?”  
“Yes, and he will inherit nothing, if we have anything to say about it!” One of the other Dwarves exclaimed.  
As they were talking the road abruptly came out of the trees, before them it continued along the slope to a high stone fortress. Smooth walls rose from the valley below to ramparts and towers built close to the mountain behind. It had the look of something built by the Men of the First Age, a style of stonework that was long lost.  
“What is this place?” Thorin asked as they approached the gate.  
“We do not know its original name,” Born said. “We came upon it by chance. A watchtower of Men from long ago. Whoever built it knew a thing or two about stone, that I can tell you.”  
As they approached the gate they could see Dwarves at work around them, repairing the dam that created a little lake in the vale before the walls, setting new stones in the road, working on the ramparts. “How many are living here?” Thorin asked.  
Born smiled. “We are more than 3000 now.”  
“Three thousand,” Thorin repeated softly. He and Kaylea exchanged glances. “You are an army.”  
“An army for the Queen!” Exclaimed the Dwarf who had spoken earlier. “Soon we will march!”  
Born led the way through the gates into a wide stone courtyard. There were stables to one side where Kaylea took the horses to get them settled. Thorin followed Born into the keep, up several flights of stairs, through tall doorways and down long halls. Everywhere there were Dwarves, mostly from the Blue Mountains, but also from the Ered Mithrin, sharing meals in groups, smoking around the wide hearths, bedrolls laid out along the walls. They came at last to a long hall, furnished with plain wooden tables. Here there was a group of richly-dressed Dwarves studying maps laid out on the center table. They looked up as Born came in. Thorin could see one was an old soldier, wearing the livery of the Ered Mithrin, most of the others were from the Blue Mountains.  
“May I present Lords Jord and Narn, of the Ered Luin, and their councilors,” Born said. “And this is Leif, captain of the Ered Mithrin,” he indicated the old soldier. “This is Frerin, son of Fror. We stopped him and his wife at the stones. Since he is a kinsman, I invited them to stay with us.”  
Leif came around the table to stand before the Thorin, fixing him with a piercing gaze. Thorin hoped his disguise was going to hold up, this Dwarf looked old enough to remember him.  
“If you are of the House of Durin, then you are welcome here,” He said gravely. “I had not heard any of that line were so tall.”  
“It is an accident of birth. I admit it has made me a bit of an outcast,” Thorin said, with a shrug. “But I have made a new life in the far north. I am a blacksmith in Ivrin.”  
The old Dwarf continued to study him closely. “You are a long way from home! What has brought you to Angmar?”  
“You have no doubt heard about the missing prince, heir to the throne of the Iron Hills,” Thorin said. “When the call went out, I thought I should do what I could. He is a distant relation, after all.”  
“And the Queen is offering a handsome reward,” Kaylea said, as she stepped into the room. “Enough for us to live comfortably for years.” Her appearance drew startled looks from Leif and the other Dwarves. Born had not had a chance to warn them Thorin’s wife was a Human woman, though with the elaborate braids in her hair and sword across her back she did not look entirely out of place.  
Leif looked a bit offended at Kaylea’s use of Khuzdul, though she spoke it perfectly. In the Eren Mithrin it was a language used by Dwarves alone. He looked about to admonish her, but seemed to think better of it. “Another of the line of Durin who has married a Human, once I would have found that strange, but we live in different times now,” the old Dwarf smiled at Thorin. “I understand now why you live in the north.”  
Thorin took Kaylea’s hand as she came up beside him, smiling at her. “I am happier there than I have ever been,” he said. “This is Tara, daughter of Tyr, from far Hithlum.”  
Kaylea bowed to the assembled Dwarves. “At your service, my lords.” Leif was looking from one to the other of them thoughtfully, but said nothing.  
As introductions were going on, Thorin and Narn and Leif going over family histories and trying to figure out how they were related, other Dwarves came into the chamber with plates of food and tankards of ale and began to lay out a meal on the long table. After they withdrew the nobles took their places, Thorin and Kaylea sat together in the middle of the table. It was simple fare, but there was plenty to go around, and as they ate Leif and the others told the story of how they came to be in the Angmar mountains.  
Borin’s cousin Vidar had come to the Blue Mountains many years ago. He had proved himself a wise councilor and able administrator, and had risen quickly to the King’s Council. All the Dwarves spoke of his persuasive voice, able to easily turn other minds to his way of thinking. Then fifty years ago the miners of the Eren Luin had seen a sickness in the earth, a black dust that rose from the deeps of the earth, slowly consuming the ores.  
“From that sickness a great evil was released,” Lord Narn said quietly. “Not just one Balrog, but two. They drove us from our cities, destroying all before them. Some of us, those close to the gates, were lucky enough to escape. Our kings and their families were not among them.” There was a long moment of silence around the table. Rousing the ancient demons had been the deepest fear of the Dwarves since Moria, and this time there had been two.  
Thorin and Kaylea exchanged glances. When the manna of the land was drained by the destruction of Sauron’s ring it must have weakened the spells that contained the balrogs. Blackwolf had used the power of the silmarils to heal the land, but the ancient demons could not be contained that way. Unless a way could be found to return them to their sleep, those cities were likely lost forever.  
“Vidar was one who escaped,” Jord said at last. “And at first we were glad to have him. He organized the two cities into one, kept us provisioned and led risky missions to retrieve our treasure. Several years later he guided us to the Ered Mithrin. Without him we all might have perished.”  
“But he became too fond of the power given to him,” Kaylea said. The Dwarves around the table nodded.  
“When Borin died he immediately began to plan his conquest of the Iron Hills, saying it would be the first step to the Dwarves of the Ered Luin taking their rightful place as rulers of all the kingdoms,” Leif said. “That was when many began to doubt him. Our kingdoms have always been ruled by different families, there is no need to have one king set himself over all. Lords Jord and Narn were the first to speak openly against him, and were jailed by his supporters. That brought the first open clash of arms amongst us. The lords were freed and brought us here. We had thought to journey to Forochel, but then we found this place and have since been gathering our strength.”  
“I am curious. Today I heard several Dwarves speak of support for the Queen of the Iron Hills. Is it your intention that Freya remain on the throne, if her son is not found?” Kaylea asked, looking around the table.  
The nobles shifted in their seats. Finally Lord Narn said “We have been hearing much of this kind of talk lately. Perhaps it comes with the dislike of Vidar’s reign, many feel he has betrayed their trust. But it is not our way.”  
Kaylea’s eyes swept the faces around her. She could see most agreed with Narn, though Born and Jord did not. “In these times you might do well to consider new ideas,” Kaylea shrugged. “Will you stay the winter here?”  
“That was the original plan but we have just learned that Vidar is planning to march on the Iron Hills before winter, his army may even now be in motion.”  
“He is strong enough to take the Iron Hills?” The surprise was evident in Thorin’s voice.  
Leif shook his head. “His army is eight thousand strong, there is no way he can take them by force. But he says the Dwarves of the Iron Hills will flock to his cause. As I told you, he has a way of persuading people, many will join him.”  
“The Iron Hills must be warned,” Thorin said. Kaylea glanced sideways at him, she could hear the voice of the King breaking through his disguise. “You have sent word through the ravens?”  
Leif looked up sharply at him, his eyes narrowing. “Only kings and their families know the language of the birds,” he said, studying Thorin carefully. “Or had you forgotten that?”  
Thorin looked down at his plate, but before he could reply Kaylea jumped in. “Dwarven kings are not the only ones who use the ravens,” she said quickly, hoping to distract the old soldier.  
Leif turned to her in surprise. “Then it is true the men of the north send messages with the birds?”  
Kaylea nodded. “Not in the way of Dwarves, we do not know their speech. We put written messages in bands on their legs.”  
“If you can call a raven, I will draft a message for the bird to deliver,” he said. “We plan to leave here shortly, to oppose Vidar in the Iron Hills or wherever else he goes.” He looked from Kaylea to Thorin and back. “You look like you two can handle yourselves in a fight. Will you join us?”  
Thorin shook his head. “We must continue to look for the missing prince. If Borin’s son is found it will be harder for Vidar to convince the Dwarves of the Iron Hills to follow his cause. If her son is found Vidar’s claim to that throne will vanish.” He looked up to see the other Dwarves all watching him.  
“You have a fine understanding of politics for a country blacksmith,” Lord Narn said, looking at Thorin curiously.  
“I spent my youth in Erebor,” Thorin said, with a wave of his hand. “But I preferred adventure to a regular job in the mines. I was a great disappointment to my mother.”  
The lords all laughed at this and returned to their meal, though Leif still looked unconvinced. “Speaking of Borin’s son. We heard he traveled to the Blue Mountains, which is why we are riding there. Do any of you remember him?” Thorin asked.  
“There have been no Dwarves in those mountains since the balrogs destroyed our cities,” Jord said sadly. “Vidar has kept up this pretense that we are still living there, for his own reasons.” 

Later that evening, Thorin and Kaylea climbed the stairs in one of the towers to the rooms that had been set aside for them. Simple quarters along the curved outer wall, narrow bed, rough table and chairs, but the fire burning merrily in the hearth made it feel welcoming and there was a bath of hot water already drawn.  
“First dibs on the bath,” Thorin said, peeling off his shirt and kicking off his boots. “That was a nice save about the ravens, by the way.”  
Kaylea smiled at him. “I think Leif made you. At least he didn’t say anything to the others.”  
“I’m not so sure,” Thorin replied, settling himself into the hot water. “He is certainly old enough to remember me, but I don’t think he is certain yet.” He took a deep breath. “Guess we need to get out of here before he makes up his mind.”  
“Is that tub big enough for two?” Kaylea asked, throwing her shirt over a chair.  
“Let’s find out,” Thorin let his knees fall to the sides as Kaylea stepped in and leaned back against him, the water lapping over onto the floor.  
“My mother always warned me not to get into bathtubs with strange men,” she smiled over her shoulder at him.  
“Very good advice.” Thorin swept her hair aside to kiss her ear. “You never know what it might lead to.”  
“Mmmm…I do hope you are going to show me.” 

The next morning they walked along the high ramparts of the old fortress, looking for a raven to carry the message to the Iron Hills. After Kaylea had described the metal bands the Northmen used the Dwarves had quickly made one, light as a feather and highly polished. The bird was skeptical of it at first, but once Thorin explained that none in the Angmar mountains understood their speech he agreed to carry it. Thorin watched the raven fly away thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the mountains to the west.  
“So, we now know it is unlikely Nain is in the Blue Mountains. Where do we go next?”  
“A scholar cannot resist the archives in Gondor,” Kaylea said. “I say we turn south.”  
Thorin frowned. “Gondor is a long way from here.” He looked at his wife reproachfully. “Can you forgive me for wanting to see what is happening in Fahr-Sund?”  
“You said when we started this you would stay out of the politics, husband,” Kaylea told him. “I am going to hold you to that.”  
“I know what I said,” Thorin replied. “But this weighs on my mind. If this Vidar is marching on the Iron Hills I worry how they will defeat him. And I want to know what he has planned for my daughter.”  
“It would not surprise me if he is planning to marry her to strengthen his claim to that throne, and to keep her brothers from attacking before he is ready. Though I imagine he is in for a surprise if he thinks she will just bow down and accept him.” Kaylea said. “The best thing we can do to help her is find her son.”  
It was late morning when they led their horses out the tall gates and started back down the road. Born had been there to bid them farewell, apologizing none of the lords could be there to see them off as they were busy planning the march to the Iron Hills. They had not gone far when they heard steps behind and them and saw Leif trotting after them, waving for them to stop.  
Thorin dismounted as the old soldier came up. “What is the matter, my lord?”  
Leif bowed low. “Your majesty, please stay! With you at the head of our armies none can stand against us. Vidar will be finished.”  
“I confess there is a part of me that wishes to do as you ask,” Thorin sighed. “But I am no longer a king, I have passed on that mantle. You must look elsewhere for someone to lead.”  
“You would abandon us, in this hour of need?” Leif pleaded.  
“I gave my word, I cannot break it. You look like a man who has led many successful campaigns, I am certain you can lead these troops to victory. And remember, the House of Durin is strong; look to my children if you need aid,” Thorin told him. He stepped forward to lay a hand on the old Dwarf’s shoulder. “Thorin Oakenshield is dead. You must swear you will tell no one who I am.”  
Leif hesitated, he wanted to continue trying to persuade Thorin but could already see he would not succeed. Taking a deep breath, he nodded solemnly. “I swear.”  
Thorin got back on his horse and he and Kaylea trotted into the trees. Leif watched them go for a long moment before turning to walk back to the keep.


	5. The River Runs South

Tivan made his way along the narrow streets to the inn near the edge of town. As he reached the entrance he took a moment to admire the view of the mountains in the distance; up the river were the gates of Fahr-Sud the Dwarf city of the Grey Mountains. It was his sixth night in Framsburg, and he could not wait to be on his way south, the town made him increasingly uneasy. From the Iron Hills there were two ways to travel to Gondor, along the dusty wagon road from Dale, or down the Anduin from Framsburg, at the foot of the Grey Mountains. Tivan had been lucky enough to find a ride with a freight team on their last trip before the heavy snows hit, now he was just waiting for the barge captain to fill his holds before starting south. It had been easy to secure passage, one of the advantages to being a bard was captains were always glad to have someone aboard to entertain the crew.   
Back in the Iron Hills on the night of the King’s wake Tivan had remembered that Nain often talked about his desire to visit the archives in Gondor. In the great city of Men all the old records were kept, going back to the founding of the city in the Second Age. Nain had mentioned several times that he could not complete his research without going there, and he had been planning to spend several years going through the documents. Tivan knew Nain had been on his way to the Blue Mountains fifteen years ago, he had more than enough time to have visited all the Dwarf kingdoms. If he was still alive he was surely in Gondor, or had been there recently enough that Tivan could catch up to him.   
This was Tivan’s first time in the Ered Mithrin. In the cities of the Misty Mountains Dwarves and Men mingled freely, you often found them drinking and working together, but in Framsburg they kept themselves separate. The Dwarves rarely left their city and the few traders and smiths that lived in town stayed on the north edge of the settlement. The freighters had warned him to only seek lodging in that area, and when he ventured to other parts of the town the Men stared at him and whispered among themselves. The tension in the air was almost palpable. Tivan also noticed there were a large number of Dwarf soldiers about, keeping a watchful eye on the river traffic and patrolling throughout the town. Curiously, many of them were from the Blue Mountains. He had been debating asking why they were here, but did not want to draw unwelcome attention to himself.   
Tivan pushed the door open, welcoming the warmth of the crowded inn after the cool night air. The place was full of tobacco smoke and laughter, and a large number of Dwarven soldiers. Kare, the old Dwarf who had invited him to play, hailed him from across the room. They played several sets together, with much singing along and shouted requests from the patrons. Some of the tunes were new to him, but he was able to pick them up quickly and he was surprised to have a couple of his own songs requested. He did not know his music had traveled so far. After they had finished playing, Tivan made his way over to the bar, eager for a pint. As he crossed the room a very large, somewhat tipsy soldier put a hand on his arm.   
“You are good! I could use you to keep up the spirits of my troops on the march,” he said, peering near-sightedly at the bard.   
Tivan smiled politely, brushing off the man’s hand. “I just accepted a commission in Moria, I am on my way south in the morning.”   
“Moria!” The soldier clapped him on the shoulder. “We will be there soon! Why not just come with us? Or don’t you want to be on the winning side?”   
At that moment, another soldier grabbed the Dwarf’s arm. “Do not pay any attention to him, he’s drunk,” he told Tivan.   
“I am not!” The first soldier protested, waving his arm to ward off his companion. Tivan stepped hastily back to avoid being struck and stepped on the foot of someone behind him. He quickly turned around to apologize and came face to face with a very familiar pair of violet eyes.   
“Your maj--!” Tivan started to exclaim before she quickly clapped her hand over his mouth, giving him a warning glance. Tivan was so shocked he could barely speak, he muttered an apology before she leaned close to his ear.   
“We need to talk,” she whispered. “Outside.”   
Still reeling, Tivan made his way over to pick up his instrument and say his farewells to the other musicians. Shouldering his bag, he stepped out into the crisp night air, looking up and down the street. He saw the Queen standing at the corner of the inn. She was wearing a fur-trimmed leather coat over a set of men’s clothes she might have borrowed from a miner, she was also armed with sword and bow. She had grown out the beard she usually shaved. Tivan had to admit the disguise would fool any Man, and maybe even a few Dwarves. She motioned him to follow her and led the way past the end of the street where they would not be overheard.   
Tivan bowed low. “Your majesty, what are you doing here?”   
Freya put her hands on her hips. “I am following you, of course. How could you leave me a letter saying you know where to find my son and not expect me to go after you?”   
“I expected you to stay at home and protect your throne!” Tivan was shocked. It had never occurred to him she would leave the Iron Hills. “From what I heard at the King’s wake I thought you would be preparing your armies for war.”   
Freya waved her hand dismissively. “Trond said the same thing, but he can do that very well without me,” she said. “And we are staying in touch through the ravens. I am actually glad I came, now I see more clearly the danger Durin guessed at. So, where is my son?”   
Tivan shifted his feet, keeping his eyes down. He had so wanted to bring Nain back to the Iron Hills by himself. “I believe he is in Gondor. He often spoke of research he needed to do there.”   
“Of course, that’s where he would find all the old records,” Freya said, nodding slowly. She met the bard’s eyes. “So, you are going south down the river. That is why you came here.”   
“Yes,” he nodded. “The last barge of the year is set to leave tomorrow.”   
“Very well, I am going to Gondor with you,” the Queen replied. “Do you have a cabin arranged?”   
“Yes, but…,” Tivan stopped, biting his tongue. He had been on the verge of saying something he really shouldn’t. “You can have my cabin, of course. There should still be space on the deck.”   
“In this weather? Surely the cabin has room for two!”   
“My queen, it would not be appropriate!”   
Freya frowned at him, then gestured at her attire. “Do I look like I care about appearances? Anyway, you can just tell the crew I am your mother.”   
Tivan stared at her, he could feel the heat creeping up his face. “I couldn’t possibly…I…,” he stammered, trying to order his thoughts. Freya crossed her arms and waited for him to go on. “I don’t know if it is even large enough for two, your majesty.”   
The Queen smiled at him. “You are going to have to stop calling me that,” she said gently. “Call me Freyr. I am a simple miner now, on the way to Moria to join my kin.” She shook her head. “What am I going to do with you? Why do you think of me as some blushing young girl, when everyone else sees a hundred and thirty-year-old mother of two children?”  
“Perhaps it is because I have seen you blush,” Tivan replied, starting to regain his composure. “And I would not want to share a cabin with my mother, in any case.”   
“If I am looking for my son, at least I feel like I am doing something,” Freya said. “At home I can do nothing but worry.”  
“I wish you would return to the Iron Hills,” Tivan sighed. “But if you are determined, meet me at the docks at six bells and we will make the arrangements.”   
Freya nodded, then turned and walked down the back street into the night. Tivan watched her go, still not quite believing she was actually here. And they were about to spend days together, possibly in the same cabin, floating down the Anduin. He worried he would not be able to spend so much time in close company with his Queen without revealing how he felt about her. He walked back to his inn debating whether he should just tell her, and wondering if she already knew. 

A light snow was falling the next morning as Tivan made his way down to the river. The crew was securing the last of the cargo to the barge. Freya was already there, watching the Men work. With a bag slung over her shoulder and a wide-brimmed hat to hide her face she looked the part of a traveling miner, a Dwarf off to seek her fortune. The soldiers gave her a close look as they started up the ramp, but did not stop her. This far from her kingdom it was almost impossible that she would be recognized. The barge captain grumbled at him bringing another mouth to feed, but relented when Freya put two gold coins in his hand.   
“You’ll have to make do with the one cabin,” he said. “The rear deck is already full.” His was the last barge of the winter, so everyone who wanted to go south had piled aboard, claiming space on the pallets with their bedrolls.   
The cabin was at the very front, and Tivan was glad to discover it had a second bunk that pulled out from under the first. The captain had obviously given him the smallest cabin, but since it was built for Men there was quite enough space for two Dwarves. After stowing their things they went back up to the deck just as the barge began to drift away from the dock.   
“I think I never have been so glad to leave a place,” Tivan said thoughtfully, watching the town disappear through the falling snow.   
“I agree,” Freya said. “These are dark times for the Ered Mithrin.”   
“What is happening?” Tivan turned toward her, leaning on the rail. “I see many Dwarves from the Blue Mountains, the residents are holed up in their city. Why we have heard none of this in the Iron Hills?”  
“I do not know the whole story, and I did not want to risk going to Fahr-Sud to find out,” Freya replied. “It is Borin’s cousin Vidar, who rules here. Some calamity has struck the kingdoms of the Blue Mountains, and Vidar brought the people here. He seems to inspire a fierce loyalty among his followers, that is why we have heard nothing of this. Now he wants the throne of the Iron Hills as well, I think he means to rule all the kingdoms.”   
“Can he do it?”  
Freya smiled. “If he thinks the children of Thorin Oakenshield will give up without a fight, he is in for a surprise.” 

From Framsburg the Anduin flowed nearly due south for hundreds of miles, the sharp peaks of the Misty Mountains rising on the west, the looming expanse of the Greenwood to the east. Freya had never journeyed by boat before and found it quite enjoyable. While Tivan was gambling with the other passengers on the back deck or practicing his music she would often find a quiet spot and watch the scenery go by. The crew were Men from Gondor and after one of the Dwarves aboard explained she was a woman she got quite a few curious looks. She remembered once hearing that Men were under the impression there were no Dwarf women, though she had never believed that. Where did they think the children came from? That they emerged full-formed out of stone?   
Aboard the barge they were quick to find a routine. Tivan was very attentive and always made sure she had everything she needed. The first night was cold, and he found her an extra blanket, a button fell off her coat and she later discovered he had sewn on a new one. He made sure she had enough to eat and was always asking if there was anything else he could do for her. She mostly had the cabin to herself, Tivan would come in late after he had finished playing for the crew, and quietly let himself out before she got up. Freya pulled his bunk out in the evenings before she climbed into her own, and rolled out his bedroll. She was a very light sleeper so he invariably woke her when he came in, but she pretended to be asleep so he would not think he was disturbing her. With all that was on her mind she did not sleep well and was awake through the early morning hours. She would lay on her side and watch Tivan sleep in the grey light, in their little cabin he was closer than she and her husband had been the times they shared a bed. She studied his fine features, straight nose and strong cheekbones, the elaborate braids he wore in his tawny golden hair, wondering why he wore his beard short, though she always forgot to ask him. She found herself fighting the urge to reach down and touch his bare shoulder, run her fingers over his skin. Then she would roll onto her back and remind herself that to lust after a man half her age was ridiculous, even if she did get the impression that the attraction was mutual.   
On the fourth day on the river a scribe joined them for dinner at the table with a few of the crew. A small, unhealthy-looking man in worn robes. As they ate he kept looking at Freya and Tivan curiously.   
“Please excuse me, but are you from Erebor?” He asked at last.   
“Yes,” Freya answered. “Are you from Gondor?”  
“I am,” the Man nodded. “I could not but notice you look very different from the Dwarves in Framsburg, it made me curious. We do not see many Dwarves in Minas Tirith.”   
“You are from the White City?” Tivan asked. “Are you by chance a scribe in the libraries there?”  
“Indeed. It has been my life’s work.”   
“Is that what brought you to the north?” Freya asked.   
“No. Unfortunately a scribe cannot support himself solely with research,” the man smiled. “I have been keeping accounts for a trading company, my contract just ended. Now I have enough to continue my work for several years, I cannot wait to get back to it! I could not face another winter in the north.”   
An idea suddenly occurred to Tivan. “Do you know any Dwarves in Gondor?”   
“There is one I know well,” the Man replied. “Arrived in the archives six years ago, one of the sharpest scholars I have ever met.”   
“I have a kinsman in Gondor,” Freya said, trying to keep her voice light. “What is this Dwarf’s name?”  
“If your kinsman is writing a history of your people, he is one and the same,” the scribe studied her closely. “His name is Nain and, I must say, he looks rather like you.”   
Tivan and Freya exchanged glances. “Is he still there?” Tivan asked.   
The Man shook his head. “No, he left just before I took this job two years ago.”   
“Do you happen to know where he went?” Freya asked, feeling her chest tighten.   
“I can’t remember if he named a specific place,” the Man looked thoughtful. “I know he had started on his book, a history of the Dwarves. I must say, I am looking forward to reading it. He said the last part was devoted to Thorin Oakenshield and there was still some research he needed to do. I know he was going west, to Eriador.”   
Freya felt her heart sink. She had been so sure they would find her son in Gondor, now that hope had been dashed. Tivan touched her shoulder and she looked up to see he was smiling. After this the conversation turned to other things and as soon as they could politely excuse themselves Tivan and Freya rose to take a turn on the deck.   
“I must go talk to the captain,” Tivan said, when he was sure they would not be overheard. “We have already passed the ford at the Forest Road, we need to ask how soon he can put me ashore.”   
“You know where Nain is?” Freya asked, turning to face him. She tightened her grip on his hand, surprised to find she was holding it.   
Tivan smiled. “You must know the songs about your father as well as I do. Don’t you remember Bilbo Baggins?”   
Freya gasped. “He is in Bilbo’s land? What is it called…the Shire? Are you sure?”   
“I can’t know for certain, but that is where I must look next,” Tivan said. “It will be a hard journey over the mountains, the snow will already be deep. You must return to the Iron Hills.”   
“Absolutely not,” Freya frowned at him. “I am going with you. I have already come this far, I am not turning back now.”   
“Somehow I knew you would say that,” Tivan sighed. “But I am only concerned for your safety. Will you not reconsider?”  
“My mind is made up,” Freya said. Looking down she saw they were still holding hands, she thought about letting go but found she didn’t really want to. “I want to find my son,” she looked up at him with a little smile. “And I am fortunate to have such a good friend on the journey.”   
She saw Tivan’s eyes change, taking on a kind of sadness. He reached to move a wisp of hair away from her face. “Will you ever think of me as more than a friend?” He whispered. Then, eyes widening, he quickly stepped back, bowing his head. He almost went down on one knee but stopped himself. “I am sorry, your maj-…ah, my lady. I should not have said that.”  
Freya clasped her hands and looked at him. She opened her mouth to respond but could not find the right words. “Apology accepted,” she said at last. She did not tell him the touch of his fingers on her cheek had made her realize how desperately she wanted him. She ached for him to take her in his arms, to feel his lips on her skin. But that could never happen. “Now, let us go and talk to the captain,” she told him, instead of all the other things she wanted to say. 

The second day on the trail after leaving the barge dawned brilliant and clear, the snow-covered peaks of the mountains standing out in sharp relief against the blue sky. The sun was warm on their faces, the air crisp with the scent of fall, a perfect day for traveling. Tivan and Freya walked north along the river, toward the pass that would lead them west over the mountains, hoping to reach the small settlement at the East-West Road by the evening.   
Tivan had wondered at first how the Queen would fare walking all day, but soon discovered she was more than up to the task. Freya set a fast pace and walked tirelessly for hours, even insisting he let her carry some of the supplies. The barge captain had given them eight days worth, if they managed them carefully it would be enough to get over the mountains. Tivan had already noticed the Queen ate like a bird, so little he worried about her, he even tried to tempt her with fresh fish from the river.   
“You sound like my mother,” she told him, picking at her fish. “’You need to eat more, no man will want you unless you put some meat on your bones!’ I got so tired of hearing that.”   
“She told you that?” Tivan was shocked.  
“I would remind her that Kaylea Wolf was thin as a rail and all the men wanted her,” Freya chuckled at the memory. “Then she would refuse to speak to me for a couple of days.”   
Tivan laughed with her, thinking it could not have been easy to grow up between two such strong-willed women. It was in moments like these, seeing her smile and laugh, hearing these little anecdotes from her childhood, that Tivan felt closest to her. He had spent years admiring his queen from afar, now he was sharing meals with her under the open sky. At court their roles were very clear, but out in the Wild the lines became blurred. On the barge it had been easier to maintain a semblance of their accepted roles, they took meals together and an evening stroll on the deck, but otherwise he was able to mostly keep himself apart from her. Here it was different, here they were equals, just two people moving through the vast landscape, needing each other to survive.  
In the afternoon they came to a place where a ridge of rock jutted up in front of them, marching down from the mountains into the river. The trail they were following zig-zagged up the side and along the crest, but as they came to the spot where it began to descend the other side they found a section of the rock had slid away, leaving a sheer face with a jumble of rocks at the bottom where they could see the trail pick up again, almost forty meters below them. It had obviously been this way for some time as previous travelers had rigged a couple of ropes. One was fixed, the other went through a pulley and could be used to lower things down by someone at the bottom.   
Freya looked at the ropes nervously. “I am not very good with heights. I don’t know if I can do this.”   
“You will be fine,” Tivan told her. “I will go first and get the packs down. Then you can tie the rope around your waist and I will lower you as you climb down.”  
“I don’t know,” Freya bit her lip, looking at the rocks below. “Perhaps we can go back and see if there is another trail.”   
Tivan could see she was scared. He looked into her eyes. “You can do this. I will not let you fall. Do you not trust me?”  
“I know you will take care of me,” Freya said. “But it still scares me, stepping over that edge.” She looked at the ropes again. “I am too old for this,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head.   
“Age is just a number, my queen,” Tivan told her. “Your own father undertook the dangerous journey to reclaim Erebor when he was far older than you, he did not think himself too old. You will never convince me a daughter of Durin could do any less.”  
Freya straightened up, meeting his eyes. “You are right,” she said. “If this is the way forward. I must master my fear and do it.”   
Tivan smiled at her, he pulled up the end of the rope that went through the pulley and made sure Freya knew how to tie a bowline knot. When he was sure she could do it confidently he turned and descended the fixed rope. Freya tied each of their packs to the rope first, as soon as Tivan had lowered them it was her turn. She tied the rope around her waist then took hold of the fixed rope, he watched her hesitate, steeling herself to step over the edge.   
“I’ve got you,” he called to her, taking up the slack. She was so light he knew he could easily lower her the same way he had the packs, but he wanted her to walk down the rockface, to know she could do it on her own. After a long moment he saw her step out, holding the rope tightly, and take a hesitant step down. “That’s it!” He told her, feeling her weight on the rope in his hands. “Don’t look down, just look at the rock in front of you!”  
Freya lowered herself slowly at first, then a bit faster as she felt Tivan holding her. He watched her gain confidence as she descended, and he could almost feel her sigh of relief as her feet touched the ground. Just as she reached the bottom she stepped back and the rock shifted under her feet, throwing her off balance. Tivan quickly stepped forward and caught her. Freya laughed, flush with her triumph of conquering her fears, she turned in his arms and then he was kissing her. Tivan later could never remember how it happened exactly, just that it was more amazing than anything he had ever imagined. Her lips were soft as velvet, her mouth tasty earthy and sweet, her slim body alive in his arms. He had no idea how long the kiss lasted, only that he could feel he was not the only one who did not want it to end.   
“That was a very long time coming,” he whispered, as she drew back.  
Freya was fingering the buttons on his shirt. “Do you really think age is just a number?” She asked softly, not looking up.   
“You know I do not say things I don’t mean,” he put a finger under her chin and lifted her head to meet her eyes. “I love you. And while I have long wished for this moment, I want you to know what happens next is entirely your decision. You are as far out of my reach as the stars themselves, and even if you do share my affection I know you have many excellent reasons not to act on it.”   
“Thank you,” she replied. “You must know that I… I must be careful, particularly now. I just…need more time to think.”   
“You shall have all the time you need, my queen,” Tivan said, then glanced quickly at the sky. “We should get moving if we want to sleep indoors tonight.”   
Freya looked up at him coyly. “Will you kiss me one more time before we go?”   
“Your wish is my command.” Tivan pulled her against him, he felt like his whole body was vibrating when his lips touched hers. The taste of her was intoxicating, he knew she could feel his arousal and he didn’t care, letting his hands run down her body pressing against him.   
“You are very good at that,” Freya smiled at him as she bent to pick up her pack.   
“Thank you, your majesty,” Tivan bowed to her. “Perhaps soon I can show you the other things I am good at.”   
“We will see,” came the response. 

They reached the settlement at the ford where the East-West Road crossed the river just as night was falling, it was little more than a single street with inns and shops to serve the many travelers on the road. This late in the season they were quickly able to find rooms and wasted no time in getting cleaned up, then joined the few other guests for a late supper in the pub. Tivan asked about the state of the road and was glad to hear that there had been no snows recently. A mule skinner who had just come that way assured him the snow was packed and easy going most of the way across the pass. This was good news, crossing the mountains on foot would be hard enough without fighting fresh snow.   
Later, as Tivan lay awake in the first real bed he had enjoyed in many days, his mind kept going back to the kiss he had shared with the queen. They had not spoken of it the rest of the day, and Freya had formally bid him goodnight before disappearing into her own room. What would she decide? And if those kisses on the trail were to be the end of it, would he really be able to honor that decision? Had he made a mistake declaring his love for her? He did not regret it, but could not help rethinking it. He wanted her to come to him on her own, because it was her choice, not because he had pressured her into it. It was hours before he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

The next morning they arose early and after replenishing their supplies, turned to the west and the steep mountain pass ahead of them. It was another beautiful day of clear skies and bright sun and the way was easy at first, the road climbed gradually between tall stands of trees and they did not begin to see snow until late in the day. Just as evening was coming on they stopped to rest under a pine tree. It was now time to decide if they wanted to camp or just get a few hours rest and keep walking through the night. Tivan was of a mind to keep going, the faster they crossed the mountains the less chance of being caught in a storm, but he did not want to push Freya if she was not up to it and the temperature was dropping fast. They had not spoken of the previous day, just made light conversation as they walked, and Freya had given him no hint of her mind. Tivan sliced some bread and cheese and handed them to her, he saw she was watching him closely. He could not stay silent any longer.   
“I am sorry if anything I said yesterday offended you,” Tivan said quietly. “I felt you had given me permission to speak, now I fear it has widened the distance between us.”  
Freya looked away, down the road they had just climbed. “I think I already knew, but it was still a shock to hear it spoken aloud.” She nibbled at her cheese. “You have made me take a hard look at myself.”  
“You will not send me away then?”   
“No.” Freya hesitated for a moment before going on. “The way you spoke to me I should, but the more I thought about it I realized how unhappy that would make me. Borin was a good husband and father, but…,” her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “He was not a passionate man. These last days together, I admit I have been thinking about you differently. I find myself wondering if I really want to live the rest of my life without…uh, well…and then I remember you are only a few years older than my son and I don’t want you to waste your life.” She looked down at her hands and sighed. “I really don’t know what I am trying to say.”   
Tivan realized he had been holding his breath. He took her hold of her hand. “I do, my queen,” he said. “And the only way you can find an answer to your questions is to take a chance.” He brought her hand to his lips, never taking his eyes from hers. She leaned toward him, as his lips touched hers he could hear music ringing in his ears. It took him a moment to realize it was the sound of bells drifting on the wind. Many tiny bells, playing a happy rhythm. Freya and Tivan looked at each other, wondering at the source. Then they saw a group of riders come into view down the road, in the evening light they seemed surrounded by a soft silver glow, the bells jingling on the tack of their horses.  
“Elves!” Freya said, quickly getting to her feet. She took off her hat and smoothed her hair, brushing off her clothes. Tivan followed her example. It was a rare thing to see Elves these days, there were few of them left and they almost never journeyed outside their own lands.   
The rider in the lead reined in his horse and dismounted, looking at the two Dwarves curiously. Tivan studied the tall Elf, his grave and noble countenance, the light leather garments he wore, his long black hair tied back, on his face was the bloom of youth, but in his eyes was the wisdom of centuries. Suddenly he laughed.   
“Is that Freya?” He asked. “I must say, you are the very last person I would expect to find on the side of the road!”   
Freya bowed her head and curtsied low. “My lord Elrohir,” she said. “What an unexpected pleasure it is to see you again.” She had not spoken Elvish in so long she hoped she was pronouncing everything right.  
“Unexpected is right,” one of the other Elves answered. “A Dwarf who speaks our language!”  
“This is Freya, daughter of Thorin Oakenshield and Queen of the Iron Hills,” Elrohir explained. He looked at Tivan. “And her bard, I presume. How do you come to be in the Misty Mountains?”   
“It is rather a long story, my lord,” Freya said. “We are searching for my son. He left the Iron Hills many years ago and we have had no word of his whereabouts. His father has recently died, making him the King.”   
“I heard about the king. My condolences,” Elrohir nodded gravely. “Well, you must come with us. We will have you safely over the mountains and enjoying a meal in Rivendell by tomorrow evening, from there you will be well on your way to the Shire.”  
Freya’s eyes went wide. “My lord, you are too kind! We will gladly accept your hospitality, though we must not tarry long. Our search is urgent.” Rivendell! Freya could not believe it, all her life she had wanted to visit one of the fabled Elven lands. She turned to Tivan and explained what was happening.   
“They are going to take us to Rivendell?” Tivan was astonished, even more because this Elven lord seemed to know her. “How did you ever become acquainted with the Elves?”   
“Lord Elrohir was sometimes a companion of Kaylea Wolf,” Freya explained. “He was there for the first wedding of her and my father.”   
Elrohir laughed again. “Yes, indeed!” He switched to the common tongue. “That was quite an evening. It is a rare thing to see Kaylea Wolf outmaneuvered like that!”   
The Elves took their packs and secured them to their horses, then one of them pulled Tivan up behind him and Elrohir set Freya on his own horse. “We will likely ride straight through,” he told her, as he settled himself in his saddle. “Can you stay awake that long?”   
“I will try, my lord,” she told him. Right now she was so excited to ride an Elvish horse and see Rivendell she did not think she would sleep for a week. She looked for Tivan, nervously eyeing the ground far below the tall horse. Freya had inherited her parents love of riding, but Tivan apparently had the traditional Dwarven fear of being parted from the ground. She told him of Elrohir’s plan.   
“I believe I can stay awake,” he told her. “It should be easy with the ground so far away!” The Elves spurred their horses and the bells again began their merry song. Tivan studied the faces around him, marveling at their noble, ethereal quality. When they spoke, their language had a soft, musical quality, very different from the common speech. He had heard a few Elven songs, now he was eager to hear them in the original language.   
“So, you are a bard?” The Elf that he was riding with asked.   
“Yes,” Tivan admitted.   
“A bard? Give us a tune then!” Another Elf exclaimed. Elves have a great love of music and were excited at the prospect of hearing something new.   
Tivan shook his head. “I only know such songs as are popular among my people, songs of our history and the beauty of our stone halls, I do not think they would hold much interest for such great lords. And I have heard so many stories of the beauty of Elven singing, I do not think my poor voice could compare.”   
All the Elves laughed. “Let us judge for ourselves,” said the Elf who had just spoken. “I, for one, always enjoy a new tune!”   
“Let us trade a song for a song,” said the Elf whose horse Tivan was sharing. “You sing one of yours and then we will sing for you.”   
This Tivan could not pass up, so he sang one of the songs about Thorin Oakenshield reclaiming Moria that he had learned in his youth. The Elves seemed to listen intently, and did not complain about his voice. When he finished they asked him to repeat certain parts, as if they were trying to memorize it. Then Elrohir began to sing, a song about Luthien Tinuviel, she who was considered the most beautiful Elven maiden ever to walk the earth. After he began all the Elves took up the melody, their voices making an astonishing harmony. Tivan did not understand the words but found himself transported by their singing, he could almost see Luthien dancing in moonlit groves, the beauty of the world new-made.   
And so the hours passed, the Elves sang and the horses trotted on as the landscape changed around them, first the bare stone and windswept snow of the high pass, the sliding scree slopes, then tall trees and rushing streams again. Night turned into day and the sun traveled the sky. They left the road and followed a wide path marked with white stones that wound its way through meadows and great groves of trees. Tivan nodded off several times, but always caught himself before he fell off the horse. He looked for Freya in the morning light and saw her, eyes closed, leaning on the Elf lord’s back. He seemed to be aware she was sleeping and put a hand back to steady her. Tivan wondered at the familiarity between his queen and the Elves, feeling a bit jealous. He had no idea she was an Elf-friend, or that she could speak their language. He had many things yet to learn about his queen, it seemed. During the ride his mind often went back to their conversation at the roadside, wondering what would have happened if the Elves had not arrived. Now he would never know.


	6. The Prince is Found

Having traveled north almost to Forodwaith, Thorin and Kaylea now turned their horses south, for the long ride down the western side of the Misty Mountains to the Gap of Rohan. By riding and resting in shifts they could cover three hundred leagues a day, and by the evening of the second day were already south of the Ettenmoors making their way along the River Mitheirthel. The day had been warm, more like summer then late fall, it was almost a relief when the sun dipped below the western horizon. The river made a good excuse to stop for the night, get cleaned up and make a hot meal. They found a perfect sheltered spot beside a wide bend in the river. A wide, grassy meadow with an outcropping of rock on the uphill side. The wolves trotted into the river to cool off, as soon as the horses were taken care of Thorin and Kaylea joined them.   
Sitting on the streambank, Thorin watched his wife scrub herself clean. He was beginning to get accustomed to the red hair and her new face, though he could not wait until she looked like herself again. But her body he knew intimately, every curve, every inch; the places where she was ticklish, though she always denied it, the places that made her writhe with pleasure, every dip and crease in her skin. His eyes traveled over her perfect form, high breasts, long legs, the muscles of her arms, like a goddess sculpted from marble. He still remembered how the hard muscle of her body had surprised him the first time he held her in his arms, the way it had aroused him like no other woman ever had.   
“Are you watching me, husband?” Kaylea smiled at him as she dried her braids.   
“I believe I am allowed,” Thorin replied as she took a seat next to him. He carefully separated one of her braids that matched his from the rest of her hair and absently started to redo it. She still never got them tight enough.   
Kaylea smiled at him. “You have been very quiet since we left Angmar.”   
Thorin did not answer at once, his fingers continued to work her braid. He heard a splash and saw Skadi trying to pounce on fish in the river, Aeneas had already trotted off into the forest in search of dinner. “I fear for my people,” he said slowly. “They have never faced a threat like this.”   
Kaylea met his eyes. “When we moved to the North you swore you were done. You must leave that life in the past.”   
“But I feel I am abandoning my people. They need me.”   
Kaylea shook her head. “No. They need someone to lead them. You did that for more than a hundred years. Could you do it again? Of course, but it is in times like these that great leaders are made. Do you not want to see who the next great King of the Dwarves will be?”   
“And what if it is this Vidar? What if he leads my people into a ruinous war against Men?”  
Kaylea smiled at his worried expression. “Do you really think any of your children will be swayed by this pretender? You taught them better than that, they will see him for what he is.”   
Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He knew Kaylea was right, he knew his sons were up to the task, still he was so torn. His son Thror was the only one of his children who knew he was still alive. He wanted to ride immediately to Erebor and raise the alarm. But he knew if he did that all would look to him to lead the armies, they would want him crowned Emperor of all the Dwarves. He would be pulled back into the life he had worked so hard to leave behind. Deep down he did not want to go back to being a King. He had spent a lifetime doing it and had achieved more than he had ever hoped. He had passed his crown on to his son, as his father had passed it to him, and he had never been happier than he was now, living a simple life with the woman he loved. He finished her first braid and moved around to do the other one; their clothes would need more time to dry and the cool evening air felt good on his wet skin.   
“If I had to make a prediction who will lead the fight against Vidar, I would choose Durin,” Kaylea said. “As soon as he gets wind of this he will mobilize his army, he might be doing it already.”  
“I thought you didn’t like Durin.”   
“I love all your children,” Kaylea frowned at him. “There was a time Durin did not like me, you remember. I have always had a soft spot for Thror, he is a brilliant strategist but he does not have the ambition of his younger brother. You must think so as well, or you wouldn’t have handed him the throne of Moria. I think the one who may surprise us is Freya, if she decides to lead her own army. Though perhaps the Dwarves are not quite ready for that.”   
Thorin finished her braid and leaned back to inspect his work. “I won’t be disappointed if you are right about my daughter.” He reached for his clothes. ““Ready for dinner?”   
Kaylea leaned over to kiss his shoulder with a mischievous smile, her hand traveling up his leg. “Yes, time for dinner.”   
Thorin pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. “Let’s save that for dessert. I really am starving.”

The stars were just emerging as they dressed and got dinner started. Thorin gathered wood for the fire and rolled out the bedroll in their tent as Kaylea prepared venison steaks with the carrots and potatoes they had brought. He was quiet through their meal and Kaylea left him alone with his thoughts, as she had most of the day. She knew what he was struggling with and her heart went out to him. In her more than three thousand years she had left many different lives behind, some had been easier than others. She had seen her brothers bury wives, and children, and seen their pain. This was Thorin’s first time, made harder for him after so many years of fighting for his people. She knew he was now facing what it really meant to be immortal. This was a bridge he had to cross on his own.   
After dinner was cleaned up they settled against a log next to the fire. Kaylea poured them Dorsai whiskey while the wolves gnawed on the bones left over from their meal. Thorin pulled a fur-lined blanket around them against the evening chill, drawing his wife close.   
“This is hard for me, my love,” he told her.   
Kaylea nodded. “You and I are born leaders; I have been in your place and felt the same. All your life you have looked after your people, but you have laid down that mantle. It is time for someone else to pick it up.”   
Thorin looked into the fire thoughtfully, his hand stroking the inside of her thigh. “If I decided to ride to Erebor and lead the armies, would you follow me?”   
Kaylea put her hand on his. “I would follow you anywhere, my king. You know that.”   
Thorin brought her hand to his lips, then reached to brush her hair away from her face. “And I know sometimes it is against your better judgement, my love.” He smiled at her. “But you are right. This is no longer my fight.”  
Kaylea smiled back, catching his hand in hers. “This is the part of immortality that most don’t understand. The lives and loved ones that you must leave behind.”   
Thorin took a deep breath. “Does it ever get easier?”   
“Easier? No. But you can become accustomed to it,” Kaylea poured another round. “Here’s to your children!”   
Thorin clicked his cup to hers and drank. “Long may they reign and prosper!”   
“So, what’s the plan? A couple hours sleep and back on the road?”   
“Mmmm…actually I was thinking about dessert,” Thorin replied, pulling her to him and running his hands up under her tunic. 

The next morning the sun was rising in a blaze of pink and orange as Thorin poured out two cups of spice coffee. There was a breeze blowing from the north, carrying the bite of winter, today would be colder though the clear sky promised a fine day for traveling. Across the river the plains stretched out to the south, towards the river Bruinen and the hidden valley of Rivendell.   
Thorin turned at Kaylea’s hand on his shoulder. “Bird coming this way,” she said, nodding to the east. He followed her gaze, saw the dark shape against the pink clouds. His first thought was that it was a raven with a message from Erebor, but the bird he sent from Angmar could not possibly have arrived there yet. As he watched the shape approach he saw it was too big to be a raven. Far too big.   
The great eagle landed down the slope from their camp, the wind from his wings raising a cloud of dust and brown grass. He walked towards them and lowered his head. Thorin bowed low in response.   
“Khrusos, it gladdens my heart to see you again!” Thorin said. “Does this mean you have news?”  
“Indeed,” the eagle said, straightening up. “Your grandson has been found.”   
Thorin blinked at the bird, astonished. “Found already?”   
Khrusos took a moment to preen his breast feathers before replying. “It is as you said. He is a Dwarf living not among Dwarves, not doing the work of a Dwarf.” He looked from one to the other of them. “He is in the Shire, and he is writing a book.”   
“The Shire!” Kaylea laughed. “I would never have thought to look for him there. Thank Odin for the eyes of eagles!”   
The eagle refolded his wings. “I am only the messenger. Word came to us from the kestrels that hunt in those fields.”   
Thorin bowed low to the great bird. “Thank you, Windseeker. You have saved us a long journey in the wrong direction.”  
“Is there a bird that can lead us to him?” Kaylea asked. “I know there are no ravens in the Shire.”   
“It is a tiny place,” Khrusos replied, ruffling his wings in a kind of shrug.   
“Yes, it is,” Kaylea smiled. “But it is also a maze that only the residents know the way through.”   
The eagle blinked at her. “I was told the names Sackville and Baggins, a yellow door and green fence. Surely it will not be hard to find.”   
“That does make it a bit easier. Yellow is not a common color for hobbit doors, and anyone should be able to point out the old Sackville-Baggins place.”   
“Don’t the Baggins live at Bag End?” Thorin asked, puzzled. “I remember where that is.”   
“The Sackville-Baggins were his closest relations, they did not move to Bag End until Frodo sailed to the West,” Kaylea explained. “Yellow door, if I remember right.”   
Thorin turned back toward Khrusos and bowed again. “I call your debt repaid.”   
The great eagle shook his head. “I would not be flying free over the lands of my ancestors if not for your majesty. If you ever again desire my help, I am at your service.”   
Thorin regarded the eagle thoughtfully for a moment. “You may have seen there is strife brewing among my people. If there is a way you can get word to my son in Moria that an army from the Grey Mountains will soon march on the Iron Hills, then I will be in your debt.”   
“And the other army, in the Angmar mountains? Are they friend or foe?”  
“Friends,” Thorin smiled. “It seems the eyes of eagles miss nothing. Soon they will march to the Iron Hills, to join the army there. Lords Jord and Narn lead that army but they do not know the speech of birds. Messages must be written and sent in bands, such as the Northmen use.”   
“I understand,” Khrusos said. “I will send word to the Dwarf king. I can tell you the army from Angmar is already on the move, but not the one in the in the Grey Mountains.”   
“That is good news,” Kaylea said. “If they can reach the Iron Hills first, Vidar’s army will have little chance of victory.”   
Thorin watched the eagle rise up into the air, flying toward the dawn. He sipped at his coffee thoughtfully. “So, now we go west. I admit, I was rather looking forward to seeing Rivendell again.”   
“I was thinking the same,” Kaylea said. “But it surprises me to hear you say that.”   
“I have fond memories of the House of Elrond,” Thorin said, throwing another branch on the fire. “That was the first time I saw you with my beads in your hair.”   
Kaylea laughed. “I had forgotten that! Mithril beads, quite a spectacular gift to a woman you had just met,” she took a seat on a rock next to the fire. “I remember thinking they would make a fine statement to the Elves that they could not sit out this fight against Sauron, then suddenly wondering if it meant we were married!”  
“If I had known then how long it would take you to accept me, I would have lied and told you we were!” Thorin smiled at her.   
“Ah, but the House of Durin would not have endured if I had married you then.”   
Fili had survived the Battle of the Five Armies and gone on to become one of Thorin’s most trusted councilors. He married and had a son, but had died of an illness just before his hundred and seventieth birthday. Yet he outlived his son, who died in an accident in his twenties. If Thorin had not married Shurri, his line would already have ended.   
“The path you convinced me to take was a hard one, but yes, my line is secure.”   
“It wasn’t easy for me either,” Kaylea told him. “You like to play the martyr, but every time I thought of you making love to your wife it nearly killed me. The few times I saw her in Erebor I wanted to tear her to shreds.”  
“As I have told you, there wasn’t much love involved. Just a couple of minutes at the right time of month until she conceived, then we would avoid each other for years until she decided she wanted another child. I really fought her on the third one, I had two sons and I was just done.” He smiled into his beard. “But I am glad she persisted. I would never have known the pure joy a daughter could bring.” Thorin rubbed her knee with his. “And now all that is in the past. I hope you have been enjoying our quiet life together these past years as much as I have.”   
Kaylea drained her cup and reached for the coffee pot to refill it. “It will be hard to leave this one behind,” she said, with a rueful smile.  
“Must we leave it?” Thorin had been rather hoping they could stay. While there were things he missed about life in the Empire - all the conveniences, the astounding sights, the camaraderie of the Dorsai – but he would be happy to remain a blacksmith in Beleriand with his beautiful wife.   
Kaylea chuckled. “Do you really think Lord Blackwolf is going to let one of his most valuable assets just walk away? He will come for me eventually.”   
Thorin frowned at her. “Is that really how you think of yourself? As an asset?”   
“I know in your mind we are father and daughter, and that is part of our relationship. But it is also a relationship of genetic engineer and his creation, and neither of us ever loses sight of that.” Kaylea leaned forward. “Remember, that is also your relationship with him now. His genetic manipulations have made you immortal. And you repaid him by making him destroy those gems that he prized over all else. He will be coming for you, when you least expect it.”   
“I know,” Thorin sighed. “I knew it when I decided on that course of action, but it was the only way to save my people, to save this beautiful place.”   
Kaylea shook her head. “I still can’t believe that worked.”  
“I would do anything to save the life of my daughter,” Thorin told her. “I knew you were more than just an asset to him.”   
Kaylea reached to give his hand a squeeze. “And I still love you after you put a gun to my head. Imagine that.”   
“Of course, you do,” Thorin grinned at her. “I have a reputation for being irresistible.”   
“I suppose we should get moving before half the day is gone,” Kaylea laughed. “We are only three days ride from the Shire. Soon we will find out if your grandson wants to be a king.”   
“He will return to the Iron Hills if I have to tie him to my saddle and take him there myself,” Thorin grumbled. 

The sun was already over the peaks of the mountains when Thorin and Kaylea mounted their horses and set out along the river to the East-West Road. Despite the chill breeze, this far south winter felt a bit further away, the trees were still a riot of autumn color, the fallen leaves carpeting the road. They made good time and camped near the old watchtower of Amon Sul that evening. The next day they made a shorter ride to the soft beds of the Prancing Pony in Bree and took in a good meal before pushing on to Hobbiton the next day.   
Thorin looked over the rolling hills, the winding paths, the neatly-kept gardens laid out before him. “It has been many moons since I was in the Shire.”   
Kaylea chuckled. “This place never changes.” She led the way along the road that led to the mill. Branching off at irregular intervals were the lanes that passed for streets in the Shire, each with a series of round doors cut into the hillsides behind tidy fences and clipped hedges. It was late afternoon and there were many Hobbits about, working in their yards and gardens. All stopped and stared at the strangers as they passed. They had left the horses and the wolves in the forest just outside town, but even without them the presence of strangers was too unusual to ignore.   
“I don’t know why they can’t number the streets and houses,” Thorin grumbled. He knew they were looking for a place with a yellow door and a green fence. Presumably the combination was rare enough that they would be able to find it without too much searching.  
“They don’t bother because everybody knows everybody here,” Kaylea said. “They are all in each other’s business all the time.” She paused to address a Hobbit stacking wood beside his door. “Excuse me, we are looking for the old Sackville-Baggins place. Can you point me the way?”   
The Hobbit looked up and did a double-take. It was rare to see Men in the Shire, and people from the north were completely unknown. “Uh, you mean Bag End. Up at the top of the hill,” the Hobbit said, eyeing the bear teeth in Kaylea’s hair nervously.  
“No, their old place. Where the Dwarf lives.”   
“I knew it was only a matter of time before that Dwarf brought foreigners into our town!” The Hobbit’s neighbor had come over to the fence to join in the conversation. “I said so from the beginning!”   
“We are only here to bring him some news,” Thorin said. “Not to cause trouble.”   
“His place is down close to the lake,” the first Hobbit said. “You will want to go back to the road…”  
“It would be faster to keep on this lane and turn at the honey-sellers,” the neighbor said. “Then left at the Proudfoots place, the son’s place, not the old man’s…”  
“No, no, the other way is easier,” the first Hobbit said. Thorin and Kaylea left them arguing about it and went back to the road.   
“Let’s just go down to that big field and look for a yellow door,” Thorin said. “I think that will be easier than asking directions.”  
When they reached the field they found there were four yellow doors on the hillside. Kaylea shook her head and reached for her handheld. “This will take us all day. I’m going to scan for Dwarf life signs.”   
Thorin put a hand on her arm, glancing back toward the gaggle of Hobbit children that were now following them. The sight of Men in the Shire was no doubt the most exciting thing that had happened all year. They were too shy to approach and stood back whispering among themselves. Thorin knelt down and beckoned them to come closer.   
“I have a silver coin for any one of you that can show us where the Dwarf lives,” he told them gravely, taking a Moria coin out of his purse.   
One of the older girls stepped forward, her eyes never leaving the coin. “The old Sackville-Baggins place? I’ll take you!”   
The young Hobbit led them up the hill and through a number of lanes that intersected and doubled back on each other randomly. Everywhere Hobbits came out of their houses and looked up from their gardening to stare at the strangers. Eventually they came to a wide lane, the yellow door clearly visible along the base of the hill, behind a newly-painted green fence.   
“There!” The girl pointed, then held out her hand. Thorin smiled at her as he dropped the coin in her open palm. She hurried away as Thorin and Kaylea started down the lane.  
“He appears to have taken up blacksmithing,” Thorin remarked, spotting the wreath of horseshoes hanging next to the door.   
Kaylea chuckled. “Just like his grandfather. Shall we go ask him if he is ready to become a king?”


	7. Imladris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild smut

The sun was just going down, the horses picking their way along a narrow trail when they turned a corner and the valley of Imladris opened up before them. Tivan heard Freya gasp at the sight of the narrow, stream-filled valley, the graceful halls of Rivendell below them, half-hidden in the trees. The place had the same grace as the Elves themselves, ancient and mysterious, and apart, like they had stepped over a threshold into a different reality. It was only a short time later they rode through a tall gate into a wide courtyard. Several Elves were coming down the stairs to greet them, including one who looked almost exactly like Elrohir.  
“What have you brought home this time, brother?” The tall Elf asked, regarding the Dwarves with an amused expression.   
“This is Freya, daughter of Thorin Oakenshield,” Elrohir explained. “And this is Tivan, her bard, who has been entertaining us with his fine voice.” He turned to the Dwarves. “This is my brother, Elhadan.”   
Tivan bowed as Freya curtsied. “It is an honor to meet you, my lord,” she said. “Long have I wished to see this home of the Elves, of which so many stories are told. It is more beautiful than I ever imagined.”   
Elhadan bowed back. “Welcome to Rivendell, your majesty,” he said. “I can see you are both weary from your long journey, please come inside and refresh yourselves. When you are ready you may join us for dinner.”   
They picked up their packs and followed another Elf up the stairs. As they walked through the halls both Freya and Tivan looked around curiously at the fine stone, the delicate arches of the ceilings, the beautiful tapestries and sculptures, all bathed in silver light. There were the sounds of music and singing floating through the halls. The Elf showed Tivan to some rooms that were nearly as grand as the halls, he was surprised to find a hot bath already waiting, clean clothes laid on the bed. He immediately took advantage of them both, and found a fine clear liquor on the sideboard that made him feel immediately refreshed. The clothes were made of some fabric he had never seen before, soft as silk, warm as fine wool, and fitted him perfectly. Now that he was bathed and clean, he realized how hungry he was. He had nothing but water and the jerky in his pockets since they left the Anduin. Elves apparently not only did not sleep, but also had little need for food. He left his room, wondering where the Queen was, and wandered back the way he came until he found a grand hall, furnished with long tables. Seated there were both Elrohir and Elhadan and a number of Elves. Elrohir saw him and waved for him to join them. Tivan left the seat at Elrohir’s left hand empty for the Queen, who was not yet there, and immediately began to serve himself from the many plates of food crowding the table. He felt rather out of place, seated amongst so many fair and noble Elves, but they welcomed him warmly and the food was excellent.  
“I apologize for not stopping to feed you along the way, Master Dwarf.” Elrohir said. “We tend to forget that not all can go days without eating as we do.”   
“You will hear no complaints from me, my lord,” Tivan told him. “It was well worth a bit of discomfort to hear your songs. I think I shall remember that ride as long as I live.”  
Elrohir was about to reply when he looked up past Tivan. “Ah, there she is! Please come and join us, your majesty.”   
Tivan turned to see Freya come into the hall. She was wearing a soft silver dress in the Elvish style, unadorned but of some shimmering fabric. She had transformed herself back into the Queen of the Iron Hills, her beard shaved, her hair elaborately braided, jeweled beads framing her face. In the soft light of the grand hall she looked fifty years younger. Tivan watched her approach, struck dumb by her beauty, he only just remembered to get up and pull out her chair as she came to the table. He noticed Elrohir was regarding him with an amused smile.   
Tivan never forgot his first meal in Rivendell, the ageless faces of the Elves, the sparkling candlelight and sound of laughter and conversation around him. Elrohir and Freya talked politics, the doings in the kingdoms of the Dwarves, of which the Elf lord seemed very well informed. They used the common speech, so as not to leave Tivan out, though the rest of the guests talked in their own tongue. He waited for a pause in the conversation to ask Elrohir a question that had been bothering him all day.   
“My lord, if you do not mind my asking, how did you know we are journeying to the Shire? We had only days before decided on that destination.”   
Elrohir smiled at him. “Because Nain, son of Borin, has been quietly living there for almost three years.”   
Freya looked astonished, then quickly laughed. “I do not know why it should surprise me that you know where my son is! It is said nothing is hidden from the Elves.”   
“That is quite wrong; there are a great many things hidden from us,” Elhadan answered. “But we know much of the events beyond our borders.”   
“He is well then? What is it that keeps him in the Shire?”   
“That you must ask him yourself,” the Elf lord answered. “But he is in good health and happy there, you may rest assured.”   
The Queen turned to Tivan. “So, you were right!” She told him.  
Tivan smiled at her. “Let’s just hope he stays put until we can reach him.”   
Elrohir laughed. “He will keep for a time! You must stay a few days, you have many songs to teach us, Master Bard.”   
After the meal was ended the Elves moved through to a long hall lined with soft couches and roaring fires. This was the hall of storytelling and singing, Tivan listened entranced but found the effects of the refreshing elixir were starting to wear off. Relaxing with a full belly he realized how tired he was, having nearly no sleep in more than a day. He looked around for Freya and saw her sitting near Elrohir, listening to the singing intently. Now that they were once again in grand halls it seemed the space between them was growing, the closeness he had felt to her on the trail was vanishing. Feeling a great sadness begin to overtake him, Tivan quietly left the firelit hall and returned to his rooms. 

Freya was fascinated by everything around her, the tall and regal Elves, the graceful halls, the light and singing. The evening had such a dreamlike quality, she worried she might wake and find herself in her bed back in the Iron Hills. At some point she looked around for Tivan and saw that he was no longer in the hall. She wondered if he had just stepped out for a moment; he had been on her mind all evening, though they had not had a chance to talk. She kept going back to their conversation before the Elves arrived, and her mind was still divided. Perhaps it was better for her to speak with him after she had come to a decision.   
“You seem to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, your majesty,” Elrohir said.   
Freya looked up to see the Elf lord smiling kindly at her. “I feel as if I am stuck between two impossibilities,” she told him.   
Elrohir nodded gravely. “Then you must choose wisely. I will only say it is never wrong to follow your heart. I sense you have set your own feelings aside for too long. You do not want to spend your life wondering what might have been.”   
Freya looked up at him, wondering if he had somehow been reading her mind. It was said the Elves could do such things. “Thank you, my lord. I admit, your words have hit close to the mark,” she replied. “But now I must take my leave, it has been many hours since I had any sleep.”   
She left the Elves to their singing and started back towards her quarters. She had taken careful notice of where they were, but somehow got a bit turned around. After taking a couple of wrong turns she finally found the right door. As Freya turned the latch she heard strains of violin music from the room across the hall. She hesitated, hearing Elrohir’s voice in her head ‘You do not want to spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been.’ She took a deep breath. For so many years she had thought only of her responsibilities and reputation, so long denying what she wanted for herself. In that moment she decided she was done pretending. Straightening up, she turned around went through Tivan’s door instead, backing up against it to close it behind her. Tivan was sitting on the bed with his violin, making notes on a piece of parchment. He looked up in surprise, Freya was immediately struck by how handsome he looked in the lamplight, his shirt unbuttoned and bare feet, his tawny braids gathered in a ponytail. He regarded her silently for a moment, then put down his instrument and crossed the room to her. Without a word he took her in his arms, kissing her passionately, his hands running up her body. Freya kissed him back with an intensity that surprised her, she felt like she was melting into his arms, her whole body alive. Tivan’s hands explored the curves of her body, pulling her tight against him, his touch like little sparks on her skin.   
Tivan took her hand and led her over to the bed, then turned to undo the buttons on the back of her dress. Freya reached for the lamp, but Tivan caught her hand.   
“I want to see you,” he whispered. Freya felt a thrill down her back at the touch of his lips on her neck, at the same time feeling a little pang of apprehension. She realized suddenly the only other man who had seen her naked was her husband. What if he was disappointed? Tivan lifted her dress off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, then her undergarments. She turned around to face him, saw his eyes sweep down her body. “You are so beautiful,” he said, and kissed her again. “Why do you want to hide?”   
Freya laid back on the bed watching him take off his shirt and trousers, finally getting to see what she had imagined in her mind’s eye for so long. His body was lean, his skin smooth over his wiry muscles. He lay on the bed beside her and kissed her deeply, his hand caressing her body, he kissed her neck, then her breasts, her stomach, working his way down. Freya felt like her body was being awakened after a long slumber, like stepping into daylight after long years in the dark. She gasped in pleasure and disbelief when she felt Tivan’s lips touch her there, something her husband had never done. She could feel his tongue, his fingers, she felt waves of pleasure flowing through her body, the sensation so intense she cried out. In all her years she had never felt anything like it, and immediately felt hungry for more. Tivan moved up beside her, reaching for the glass of wine on the sideboard. He smiled at her, then kissed her shoulder.   
“Did I surprise you?” He asked, offering her the glass.   
“Where did you ever learn to do that?” Freya took a sip and set it down, she felt a little light-headed.   
“That would be telling,” Tivan said softly. He kissed her neck as he pushed into her slowly. He didn’t move at first, letting her anticipation build. He started, slowly, almost gently, then faster as he felt her respond. This time when her climax peaked he was right with her, gasping at the intensity. They held each other for a long moment before Tivan moved to the side and drew an arm around her shoulders, Freya lay her head on his chest, snuggling against him. Tivan reached to turn the lamp down and they drifted off to sleep, pale moonlight streaming through the tall windows. 

Freya was later to remember her time in Imladris as one of the happiest of her life. The days were warm and the nights cool, there was food when she wanted it, music and storytelling when she wanted to listen, quiet places when she wanted time to herself. She and Tivan knew each other so well, becoming to lovers felt easy and natural. As a young girl she remembered her maids gossiping about the state of her father’s bedroom after he had been with Kaylea. When she was married she sometimes found herself wondering if she was missing something; on the nights her husband visited her bedroom always looked entirely presentable. Now Tivan was introducing her to a realm of physical pleasure she never knew existed. She felt like a virgin, exploring her body for the first time. As the days passed, she and the bard were rarely apart, they rose late, went for walks together on the grounds, ate and laughed together. Evenings were spent in the long hall where Tivan taught his songs to the Elves and he learned theirs, he was quickly picking up the basics of their language. Freya felt all the cares and worries of the last years fading away, she felt alive and young again and Tivan marveled at the change in her, wishing they could just spend the winter in Rivendell. Time seemed to pass very differently in the hidden valley, neither of them could say how long they stayed, only that it seemed longer than a week but shorter than a month.   
One morning Freya stepped out onto the stone patio where she and Tivan usually took in the sunset to find a raven perched on the low wall. As soon as it saw her the bird hopped down on the stone before her and tucked its beak to its breast in a sort of bow.   
“Your majesty, I have news,” the bird said.   
Freya listened in astonishment as the raven told her of the army marching from Angmar to join her forces in the Iron Hills. It seemed Vidar was still readying his forces, but would soon set out from the Grey Mountains. Tivan came up with two cups of tea as the bird was speaking. He did not understand the speech of ravens, but could tell by Freya’s expression the news was serious.   
The queen gave the bird messages for her chief counselor and her brothers that she knew where Nain was and would return to the Iron Hills as soon as possible. Sipping at her tea she watched the raven fly into the distance. She and Tivan would have to move quickly, and she found herself dreading it. She wanted to just stay in Rivendell with him forever.   
“What news, my queen?” Tivan asked. His face was grave as he listened, he nodded in agreement when she told him they must make plans to leave. “I will ask Elrohir if there is somewhere nearby to procure some ponies. We will make much better time if we ride.”   
Early the next morning they packed their bags and made ready to depart. It was hard to leave, but they had already stayed much longer than they had intended. As they descended the stairs to the courtyard they were astonished to find Elrohir waiting for them with two small horses.   
“These are from my own stable,” he said. “May they serve you well. We have packed provisions for six days, including some of our waybread, if your supplies run low. When you are no longer in need of the horses simply turn them loose, they will find their way back here.”   
“You are too generous, my lord,” Freya said, bowing her head. “I would refuse if our errand was not so urgent. We will return them to you as soon as we can buy ponies of our own.”   
“Nonsense,” the Elf lord said, with a wave of his hand. “Release them when you are safe at home in the Iron Hills.”   
Freya wanted to refuse, but she did not want to offend Elrohir and they could travel so much faster on horseback. She curtsied low. “Thank you, my lord. For everything. I hope one day I will have the opportunity to return your hospitality in my own halls.”   
The Elf lord offered her his hand and drew her to her feet. “I look forward to it.” He turned to Tivan. “In parting I would like to give you this,” he motioned and one of the Elves behind him stepped forward holding out a violin. “In exchange for the new songs you have taught us. It has been many years since we had new music. Use it well.”   
Tivan took the instrument reverently. He had been admiring the sound of the Elven violins, so different from his own. “Thank you, my lord. I will take good care of it. And thank you for welcoming me in your house.”   
Elrohir acknowledged him with a nod, then turned his attention back to Freya. “I wondered what I might give the Queen of the Iron Hills as a parting gift, but I could think of nothing better than what she has discovered here about herself.” He smiled at the queen’s reddening cheeks. “So, I will say this: if you ever need the help of the Elves, your majesty, you only need to ask and we will answer.”   
Freya was shocked, and covered it by bowing low. “My lord, you have already been so generous and kind, it is we that are in your debt. For what has already been given we will be hard-pressed to repay.” She looked up at him. “But my people may soon be at war, and we may be glad for any aid you can give.”   
Elrohir gave her a hand up on her horse and she and Tivan started down the path that led back to the river Bruinen and the road that would take them to the Shire. They went slowly at first, lingering along the trail through the enchanted valley. Their time in Imladris had been like a marvelous dream, the kind one did not wish to wake from. 

They were four days on the road to the Shire, camping along the way, except for one night at an inn in the town of Bree. The days were sunny and perfect for traveling, the fine Elvish horses tireless, the bells on their saddles jingling as they trotted. After a couple of days Tivan actually started to enjoy riding, though he still felt the ground was too far away. Back in the world of Men, the magic of Rivendell lingered, and the intimacy between them continued to grow. Several times during their days on the road Freya looked at her handsome bard and wondered if she had finally found the love she had always dreamed of, it felt that way now, but would it last? Yet, as much as she tried to set such thoughts aside, every day she spent with Tivan she felt like she loved him more.   
When they finally reached Hobbiton they found what appeared to be a community of gardeners and farmers, houses with round doors built into hillsides, a well-appointed inn next to a mill, a dry goods and livery, with paths leading in every direction. As they rode into town Hobbits peeked out their doors and looked up from their gardens to stare at them. Freya knew that there could not be more than one Dwarf living in the town, and any of the inhabitants should be able to point him out. After arranging for their horses they went to the inn and asked a group of the Hobbits drinking at a table outside.   
“Oh, yes! I know him well!” The oldest Hobbit said. He pointed at the hill across the lake, which had a number of round doors. “It’s the old Sackville-Baggins place, that one, just across the lake with the yellow door.” He gave them a knowing look. “A very fine place it is, though the Sackville-Baggins are far too good for it now. They live up at Bag End.”   
“What number is the house?” Tivan asked. “And the name of the street? What it the best way to get there?”   
This got all the Hobbits talking at once, with each giving different directions for how to get there. The streets apparently didn’t have names or numbers, and the instructions ran along the lines of ‘turn at the Proudfoot’s place,’ and ‘it’s just past where the old cheesemaker used to live.’ Freya decided they were getting nowhere, so asked for a detailed description of the house; she and Tivan could find the way themselves. It took them a bit of time, the lanes that ran through Hobbiton did not seem to follow any logical pattern, they took several wrong turns before finally coming upon the right one. About halfway down the lane they could see the yellow door and green fence, the flowerboxes, the horseshoes next to the round door.   
Freya hesitated for a moment. It had been many years since she had seen her son, and they had not parted on the best of terms. Would he even want to come home? Then Tivan took her hand, smiling at her.   
“Shall we see if he is at home, my queen?”


	8. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to all you shippers out there...no offence is intended.

As they approached the hobbit house with a yellow door, Tivan saw two people turn into the lane at the opposite end. One was a short Man who looked like a smith, a successful one as his clothes looked newly made and expensive. His coat was stained with long travel, his face concealed by a broad-brimmed hat. The other was a striking Northern woman in traditional dress, fur-trimmed cloak, braided hair, blue stripes on one side of her face and long sword across her back. The man looked up and saw them, his eyes widening in recognition. Tivan heard Freya gasp loudly, she ran to him and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. The man hugged her tightly, his face resting against her hair, his eyes closed. As Tivan approached he could hear Freya sobbing, heaving sobs, like all the emotions she had held in check for so long were suddenly draining out of her.  
“Shhhhhh…,” the man was saying softly, rocking her slightly in his arms. His eyes flicked up to meet Tivan’s, the bard was immediately struck by his hard eyes. Steel all the way through, he found himself thinking. Could it be…?  
After what seemed like several minutes, Freya pushed herself back, wiping her face with her fingers. She slapped him on the chest.  
“How could you do this to me?!” She exclaimed, her words coming out in gasps. “How could you?!”  
“Now I get to say I told you so,” the tall woman said. Tivan was startled to hear her speak perfect Khuzdul. She looked at Tivan. “And you are?”  
“Tivan,” he said at once, feeling as though her eyes were looking right into his soul, and too startled to ask her name in return.  
The man gently set Freya back from him, his hands on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes. “It had to be done,” he said. “I had already lived more than twice the normal span of a Dwarf’s years. It was time to leave my old life behind.”  
“You could have told me! I would have kept your secret!” Freya’s joy seemed to be turning to anger. “I can’t believe you didn’t trust me!”  
“Would your grief have been real?” The woman asked. “Would you have stood on your own two feet and fought for what is yours, or would you have come begging?”  
Freya glared at her and started to speak, but seemed to think better of it. Tivan was shocked that whoever this woman was she dared speak to his queen as though she was a common child. Before the conversation could continue the round door of the house behind them swung open and a Dwarf stepped out.  
“It is just past tea time,” he said, with a smile. “Why don’t you all come inside and have a cup? I am already going to have quite a time trying to explain this to my neighbors. If you stay out here much longer, I am going to be labelled an official disturber of the peace.”  
Freya and Tivan stared. It was Nain, dressed like a Hobbit in tweed vest, short pants that ended at his knees, and nothing on his feet. Thorin and Kaylea looked at each other and laughed.  
“Oh, do come in!” Nain said, switching to Khuzdul. He motioned them inside impatiently. “Let us all sit down and be comfortable. Then we can have a chat!”  
As soon as the door was closed, Freya hugged her son tightly. “Thank Mahal you are alive!”  
Nain leaned back, looking a bit perplexed. “Of course, I am alive. Why wouldn’t I be?” He hugged her again. “It is so good to see you, mother.” He stepped over and gave Tivan a slap on the back. “I never thought to see you here, old friend! Still driving the girls crazy?”  
Tivan laughed and slapped him back. “Of course, but in the Iron Hills now!”  
Thorin was eyeing the walls of the house skeptically. “What on earth are you doing here?”  
Nain turned towards him, bowing low. “Grandfather, I am honored. I never did believe you were dead, by the way. Please do come in and sit down.” He ushered them into the sitting room and went into the kitchen, they could hear the clatter of china. The parlor was cozy and well-kept, but crowded with stacks of books. The guests had to move them off the furniture to make places to sit, there were old maps spread out on the low table, which Kaylea immediately started going over.  
Tivan stared at the man sitting across from him he had taken to be a blacksmith. Grandfather? The great Thorin Oakenshield, and his warrior wife? Not dead after all? It was hard to believe. Thorin had to be more than four hundred, and he looked barely older than Tivan himself. Not to mention he was half a foot taller than any Dwarf Tivan had ever seen. In the portraits he had seen Kaylea Wolf was a blue-eyed blonde, this woman had red hair and green eyes. If it was a disguise it was an extraordinary one, but he could see they wore matching braids.  
Thorin sat back, still looking at the walls. “I hate these houses. Why do they make the walls curved? It is a huge waste of space.”  
Nain laughed. “Because hobbits live in holes,” he said as he brought the tray out and began to pour the tea. “They are really quite comfortable when you get used to them.” He went out then returned with another tray of cakes and sandwiches, offering them around. Then he picked up his own cup and sat back in his chair, looking around the room. “So, why are you all here?”  
“You don’t know?” Tivan asked, incredulous.  
“Know what?”  
“Your father has died,” Freya said. “You are King of the Iron Hills.”  
Nain set his cup down. “That explains it.” He looked out the window, his mind far away. “Is there no one else who wants the job?”  
“The throne is your birthright,” Thorin growled, sitting forward in his chair. “You are Borin’s heir, the crown can only be passed to you. And right now the armies of Moria and Erebor are making ready to defend it. After all the trouble and effort to find you, are you seriously going to tell your mother you would rather stay here and pretend to be a Hobbit?”  
“I am not pretending to be a Hobbit,” Nain frowned at him, recoiling from his fierce stare. “I needed a quiet place to write my book and when I came here to do some research, I thought it was perfect.”  
“You are writing a book about Hobbits?” Kaylea asked, looking up from the maps.  
“No, no! I am writing a history of the Dwarves,” Nain replied, giving her a curious glance. “But you will no doubt recall there was a Hobbit who played a small part in reclaiming Erebor, and later made a rather large mark on history.” He reached for a cake. “There was also some gossip about him and Thorin Oakenshield that needed looking into.”  
“What kind of gossip?” Thorin asked, his eyes narrowing and his voice murderous.  
“Oh, Bilbo Baggins was a lifelong bachelor who everyone considered a bit eccentric,” Nain said absently. “And you did give him that mithril mail. You know, people will talk.”  
“You have to be fucking kidding me!” Thorin jumped to his feet, his face dark with anger. “People thought Bilbo and I were…a couple?! “ He looked at Kaylea. “Did you know about this?”  
Kaylea shook her head, trying to keep a straight face. “Must be some kind of rumor running around the Shire.”  
“I cannot fucking believe it!” Thorin raged. “Useless Hobbits! A plague on the whole lot of them! I only took that idiot along because Gandalf insisted! I gave him that mail coat so he wouldn’t get himself killed, because the wizard would have skinned me alive if any harm had come to him. Not because I was in love with him! I have never heard anything more fucking ridiculous!”  
Kaylea kept her face impassive, waiting for Thorin’s rage to play itself out. She found it rather humorous, and having been the subject of similar gossip many times in her past she had long ago learned to shrug it off. Everyone else was trying to blend into the furniture in stunned silence. Thorin’s rage was legendary, and when he was in a mood you did not want to be anywhere near him.  
Thorin paced around the room, he slapped the doorframe with his hand causing everyone to duck as it came loose, angling into the entry hall. He turned to glare at Kaylea. “I am going to burn this whole place to the ground.”  
“Calm down, husband. Hobbits love a bit of gossip, you know that,” Kaylea said calmly. “If Bilbo had male partners it would be an easy leap to include the Dwarf who gave him a priceless jeweled coat.” She switched to Standard. “You are certainly aware in the Empire you have admirers among all the genders, it is not a reflection on your own orientation. An Exotic would say you are old-fashioned.”  
Thorin shook his head, then smiled crookedly. Kaylea had always been adept at diffusing his tempers. “Point taken,” he replied in the same language. “Though in this case, I will proudly wear the title of old-fashioned.” He took his seat again and leaned over to touch his forehead to hers. “I am only interested in women, one particular woman, in fact.”  
“You had better be,” Kaylea smiled at him, tugging on one of his braids. “If I catch you looking at another woman, I will cut your hair off.”  
“Pardon me,” Nain asked. “What language are you speaking? I have never heard the like. What is the root of it?” He had a notebook open in his lap and was furiously scribbling away.  
“It is the language of my people, the Dorsai,” Kaylea told him. “It is not spoken in Middle Earth.”  
Nain looked at her blankly for a moment, before sitting back in his chair. “Of course, you are Kaylea Wolf! I’m sorry, with the disguise I thought you were…someone else.”  
Thorin scowled at him. “Are you suggesting I would marry another woman?”  
Before Nain could answer Freya jumped in, not wanting her father to get started again. “Can we please return to the subject at hand?” She asked. “I am sure Nain will set the record straight about this other business in his book.”  
“Yes, yes, of course,” Nain said quickly, trying to regain his composure. He eyed his doorframe nervously; a little trickle of dirt was accumulating on his floor. Thorin had knocked the whole thing loose with a swipe of his hand. How was that even possible? “As I suspected, there was absolutely nothing to the rumors. A sentence or two should suffice.” He looked from Freya to Thorin. “What is this about armies?”  
Kaylea studied his face, she caught something in his tone when he mentioned there was nothing to the rumors. Disappointment? Thorin quickly sketched out what they had learned on their travels, and Freya added the plans of her councilors in the Iron Hills.  
“The armies of the Iron Hills lack only their king to rally round,” Freya told him. “You must return with us right away.”  
Nain was looking down at his notebook, turning his pencil in his fingers. “What’s the matter, my friend?” Tivan asked. “You always told me of your plans for the kingdom, you have done the things you told me you wanted to do before becoming a king. Why do you hesitate now?”  
Nain looked around at his guests, but before he could reply they heard the front door open.  
“Honey, I’m home!” Came a voice from the hall, followed by a Dwarf carrying a box full of vegetables. He looked up at the askew doorframe, then at everyone in the sitting room. “What on earth?”  
“Cray? Is that you?” Tivan asked in astonishment.  
Thorin put a hand to his forehead, Kaylea leaned to whisper in his ear. “Shall we step outside before you bring the ceiling down on us this time?”  
Freya looked at her son’s childhood friend, then at her son, then around the room at Tivan, her father and his wife, then started to laugh. A true, infectious sort of laugh, the kind that once started is very hard to stop. Tivan was the next to take it up, then Nain and Kaylea and finally Thorin, who sat back leaning against his wife. Freya was laughing so hard she laid a hand on Tivan’s knee to steady herself. He took it in his and pulled her close to laugh with her. Cray meanwhile had put down his box and pulled up a chair next to Nain, looking a bit bewildered.  
“Well, this certainly explains a lot of things,” Freya said, wiping her eyes. Cray had been her son’s closest friend ever since his teen years. He was the son of Trond, her chief counselor, and the two boys had been inseparable. She remembered Cray left the Iron Hills some years after Nain had disappeared.  
“You see now why I hesitate to return to the Iron Hills,” Nain said, shifting in his seat. “My people would not accept me, and I don’t want to live a lie.”  
“What you want has very little to do with it,” Thorin told him. “You can carry on however you want in private, but one of the responsibilities of a king is to produce heirs to insure the continuation of his line. I do not need to tell you that.”  
“I am not as strong as you,” Nain replied, he met Thorin’s gaze, his face anguished. “I cannot make the choices that you did. I tried to leave Cray behind, but all I discovered was I cannot live without him.”  
“My children brought me boundless joy,” Thorin said. “And I would not have them if Kaylea had married me the first time I proposed. I resented her for a long time for making me marry a woman I didn’t love, but in the end it was the right choice.”  
“So, that story is true! That Kaylea did not accept you at once,” Nain exclaimed, suddenly the historian again. He scribbled a note in his book.  
Thorin chuckled. “I lost track of how many times I proposed to her before she accepted me. Ten years after the death of Shurri, when she finally ran out of excuses.” He glanced sideways at his wife, who was shaking her head.  
“If you will excuse me,” Cray said. “I think some introductions are in order. And I have had a long day and was really looking forward to some supper. I propose you all stay and join us.”  
Everyone thought this was an excellent plan. Nain introduced everyone to his partner, then explained dinner would have little meat, as it was a day before his regular shopping day.  
“We can take care of that,” Kaylea told him. “How about some fresh coneys?”  
“That would be perfect!” Nain exclaimed. “But where will you get them?”  
“Never mind that,” she replied. “It will just take a few minutes.” Skadi and Aeneas had been catching them with ease all day, now that it was growing dark they could easily slip into Hobbiton. She and Thorin stepped outside to wait for them.  
“So, your grandson is living with a man and your daughter has taken up with a bard half her age,” Kaylea said as she took Thorin’s hand, intertwining her fingers with his. “Will the House of Durin survive?”  
Thorin chuckled. “It has survived worse,” he said, taking out his pipe. “Nain is hardly the first Dwarf to love another of the same sex, and Freya…,” he shrugged. “If she is happy, then I am happy.”  
“And here I thought you were old-fashioned.”  
Thorin pulled her close to kiss her neck. “I am old-fashioned, my love. And politically this is a mess.” They sat together on the bench outside the door, watching the stars come out. Thorin smoked his pipe thoughtfully, Kaylea leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. It was about twenty minutes before the wolves came trotting up the lane, each carrying two braces of rabbits. They leaped lightly over the fence just as Nain opened the door.  
“How much longer…oh, my!” Nain blinked in surprise at the two huge wolves. “The famous wolves of Dorsai! Will they be needing dinner, too?”  
Kaylea laughed as she took hold of the rabbits. “No, they found plenty of game today. Here, I’ll dress these for you.”  


Back inside, Kaylea helped Nain in the kitchen, while the wolves stretched out in the hall. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Thorin and Freya, sitting on the couch together talking quietly. Freya held her father’s hand in hers, her face the picture of adoration, while Thorin beamed at her with all a father’s pride, like she was a girl of six sitting on his knee. Nothing ever changed between those two. His endless favoring of his only daughter had caused not a little family friction between her and her brother Durin. It surprised Kaylea that Thorin had agreed not to tell Freya when they sailed north. She had expected it to be a fight, but Thorin saw the danger. If his daughter knew he was alive, she would be visiting every year. Tivan was sitting in a chair, listening intently and trying not to look nervous. Thorin intimidated everyone, but it had to be worse when he was the supposed-to-be-dead legendary father of the woman you really shouldn’t be sleeping with.  
Dinner was a merry affair. There was far too much food, thanks to the wolves, and the conversation sparkling. Freya told the story of her journey with Tivan, and Thorin gave an account of the search he and Kaylea had been on. Inbetween there was quite a bit of catching up; Tivan was friend to both Nain and Cray, and Freya wanted to hear every detail of what her father had been doing. After dinner while Tivan and Cray washed up, the others discussed the next move.  
“You must return to the Iron Hills, at least until this crisis is passed,” Thorin told Nain.  
Nain shook his head. “I agree the armies need a leader, but I do not think it has to be me.” He looked around the table. “I left the Iron Hills years ago, and not many noticed my passing. For years after that I traveled the country, visiting all the Dwarf kingdoms. When I mentioned the Iron Hills there was a name on everyone’s lips, and it was not the King’s.” He looked pointedly at his mother.  
Freya blinked at him. “Me? Everyone talks about me?”  
Nain laughed. “The daughter of the great Thorin Oakenshield, renowned for her beauty and kindness, of course they do! The army would only support me if you are standing by my side. Why not just lead them yourself?”  
“Do you think the Dwarves of the Iron Hills are ready for a woman on the throne?” Kaylea asked, giving Nain a skeptical glance. “The ones from the Blue Mountains certainly weren’t.”  
“We are not in the Second Age anymore,” Nain replied. “They will certainly accept my mother after they find out about my personal life.” He put a hand up to stop Thorin from interrupting. “I already told you, I am not going to hide who I am. I have done that far too long already. My father’s line can continue through my sister. Have you arranged a marriage for Enya yet?”  
Freya rolled her eyes. “What is it with you men trying to marry my daughter off?” She crossed her arms. “Why can’t she just marry someone she loves?”  
“That is not how it works, mother,” Nain said reproachfully. “You know that.”  
“My father let me marry who I wanted,” she looked at Thorin, who was studying the bottom of his glass. “Didn’t you?”  
He shrugged. “It was a good match.” His eyes flicked to Tivan.  
“I can’t believe it!” Freya was indignant. “All this time I have been defending you for letting me marry for love, and it was really politics after all!”  
“When you are royalty everything is politics, your majesty,” Kaylea said quietly. Her gaze moved to Tivan, then back to Freya. “No doubt you have considered your choices carefully.”  
Freya reached for Tivan’s hand as he returned to his seat at the table. “Admitting to myself that I loved Tivan was not easy. I agonized over it for a long time,” she smiled at him. “And I won’t give it up.” Tivan leaned over and kissed her, then Freya turned to look at her father, daring him to refute her. Thorin had spent his years as King very publicly carrying on with his warrior mistress, he didn’t have the right to tell his daughter she couldn’t do the same. “Why not win the hearts of the Dwarves from the Blue Mountains by offering them a home in the Iron Hills?”  
Thorin nodded. “Then Enya could fall in love with one of their nobles on her own.” Freya frowned at him, but before she could respond Thorin went on. “This discussion needs to be put aside for another time. As we speak, armies are marching toward the Iron Hills. This Vidar intends to turn your own people against you, if you are not there to defend yourselves it only makes his job easier.”  
“My people will not be taken in by his lies,” Freya said flatly.  
“It might surprise you how easy it is to influence a man’s mind, all that is needed is the right lever,” Kaylea leaned forward on her elbows, looking around the table. “Dwarves have never been a numerous people, and their kingdoms are almost unimaginably wealthy. Now they see Men everywhere, multiplying across the land, even living amongst you. How long will it be before they come for the treasure of the Dwarves? The might of Men is great, the Dwarves might only stand against them if they are united, under one king.”  
“There is much of this kind of talk in the Ered Mithrin,” Tivan said glumly.  
“And Vidar will have sent his servants before him,” Kaylea said. “You can be assured this is already being whispered around the hearths in the Iron Hills. Not everyone will listen, but can you be sure it will not be enough to turn the tide? Vidar has already forged the two kingdoms of the Ered Luin into one, and added the Ered Mithrin for good measure. He should not be underestimated.”  
The Dwarves shifted in their seats, the room was quiet for a moment, one of the wolves was licking its paws in the hall. “How do we defeat him?” Cray shook his head. “How do you fight against an enemy that is already inside the minds of the people?”  
Freya straightened up in her chair, her eyes far away. “We show him the Queen of the Iron Hills has no need of his false promises. She has allies stronger than any he can claim.”  
Thorin looked at her searchingly. “Of whom do you speak, daughter?”  
Freya repeated Lord Elrohir’s promise, that the Elves would answer her call. While Elves and Dwarves had their differences over the years, if the Elves joined the army of the Iron Hills on the field Vidar’s carefully built alliances would surely fracture. The fighting prowess of Elves was legend, and among Men they were revered almost as gods. Men would never take up arms against them, or any they protected. Suddenly it would be Freya that could protect the Dwarves from the avarice of Men.  
Thorin and Kaylea smiled at each other. Elrohir certainly knew they were searching for Nain, his promise to Freya was also a message for them. “In the morning you must summon the ravens,” Kaylea told the Queen. “Send word to Rivendell and discover if there is any news from your home. Hopefully you will have time to return before the fighting starts.”  
There was a long silence then Cray got to his feet. “Enough of this serious talk!” he exclaimed. “This is a reunion of family and friends and we have a famous bard in the house tonight. Let’s have some music!”  
Tivan got out his violin and Thorin his golden harp. Nain disappeared into the back of the house and returned with a flute and a drum for Cray while Freya took a seat at the piano. The next hours were spent with music and singing, letting their cares and worries fade away. When Tivan sang everyone fell silent to listen, his silky voice transporting them to firelit stone halls and moonlit forests. The wolves came into the room and sat listening politely, occasionally contributing a low howl. For a brief moment all the years of separation between them vanished, they were a happy family enjoying one another’s company.

Nain insisted everyone stay the night. His house went far back into the hill. It had been built to impress, as the Sackville-Baggins were one of Hobbiton’s most prestigious families. None of the rooms had a bed long enough for Kaylea, but she and Thorin made a comfortable nest of the bedclothes on the floor.  
Some hours later, Thorin curled against his wife’s back, pulling her against him. Kaylea leaned back, feeling the cool of sweat drying on her skin, basking in the glow that came after their lovemaking. Thorin moved her hair aside to kiss her neck.  
“Now that the cat is out of the bag, can I have my wife back?” He asked, his fingers caressing her stomach.  
Kaylea chuckled. “Have you been sleeping with some other woman I don’t know about?”  
Thorin tightened his grip around her and bit her ear. “I miss your golden hair, your real eyes. I never have liked redheads.” Kaylea reached back and slapped him on the side. He snuggled her closer. “The field surgery unit can do it,” he whispered.  
“Yes. The eyes are easy, the hair will take longer,” Kaylea sighed. ”I suppose there is no harm in it. No one knows us out here, except your kin.” She pushed herself up to look at him. “I don’t know why it is I can never say no to you.”  
Thorin smiled widely at her. “Because you love me?” He pulled her down to kiss her.  
Kaylea rested her chin on his chest, grinning back at him. “No. I only keep you around because you are such an amazing lover.”  
Thorin’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “You mean we are both doing that? I thought it was just me!” He pulled her up to kiss her again. “I love you, and I want to see my queen’s real face again.”  
“I love you, husband,” Kaylea said, as she reached for her saddlebags. “And honestly, I can’t wait to get rid of this hair.” 

“


	9. Parting Company

The next morning dawned with the promise of winter, the lawns of the Shire white with frost. Kaylea sipped at her Dorsai coffee, watching the sunrise. She heard the door open, Thorin had been out looking for a bird to take a message to the ravens.   
“This is quite a peaceful spot,” Kaylea said, gazing out the window as Thorin slid onto the bench beside the kitchen table. The sun’s first rays were just hitting the greenery outside, raising wisps of steam. Beyond the fence was a view of the lake and the inn beyond, at this hour there were only a few villagers moving about.   
Thorin nodded, sipping at his coffee. “Except for being surrounded by Hobbits.”  
Kaylea smiled at him. “Any luck?”   
“I found a kestrel out hunting. He seemed to understand.”   
Just then Tivan appeared, he paused in the doorway, gaping at Kaylea’s transformation. He knew the songs that spoke of her great beauty, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. The grace of the Elves, the nobility of the Men of ancient Numeror, like some goddess of the hunt stepped down to earth. Her hair shone like spun gold in the morning sun, adorned with Dwarven beads and braids.   
“You are staring,” Thorin told him with a smile. “Would you like some coffee?”   
“No, thank you. I prefer tea,” Tivan shook off the shock and put the kettle on, nodded at Kaylea. “Please excuse me, though I’m quite sure you are used to it…,” he hesitated. “Do I call you ‘your majesty’?”  
“’My lady’ will do,” Kaylea said quickly, before Thorin could speak. Though she had been Queen of Erebor for a time, as a lifelong soldier the title had never sat well with her. She watched Tivan move around the kitchen, arranging cups and scones on a tray, thinking he was certainly one of the most attractive Dwarves she had ever seen. He didn’t have Thorin’s simmering sexuality or crushing charisma, but he was undeniably handsome. He had fine features and lighter bones than most Dwarves, and moved with the easy grace of a stage performer. He didn’t look in Thorin’s direction, but it was evident from his body language that he was very conscious of being watched. While the kettle was heating he disappeared down the hallway.   
“You are going very easy on him,” Kaylea commented, poking her husband in the side.   
“Perhaps I am getting generous in my old age,” Thorin smiled and shook his head. “It has been a very long time since I saw my daughter this happy.” He gave her a sideways glance. “But if he breaks her heart there is no place he can hide.”   
The kettle whistled just as a shadow passed over the window. Thorin and Kaylea looked at each other, and the window darkened again. In seconds they were both out the door searching the sky; a very large bird could be seen circling high above.   
“What is it?” Tivan asked. He had followed them outside and was following their gaze.  
“I don’t know yet,” Thorin told him. “In the woods outside Hobbiton there is a footpath just on the other side of the stream that leads to the top of the hill. There is a clearing there, around a group of boulders.”   
Tivan nodded. “I saw the path.”   
“Get the Queen and Nain and meet us there.” Thorin and Kaylea immediately hopped the fence and headed for the edge of town. As they made their way through the warren of lanes the few Hobbits they encountered hurried inside at the sight of the wolves trotting ahead of them. It took them near half an hour to reach the meadow on the hill. Perched on the boulders was Khrusos, and standing next to him was Lord Elrohir. The eagle hopped down and blinked solemnly at Thorin.   
“Greetings, my friend,” Thorin said, bowing low. “I am surprised to see you again!”   
“Indeed, I did not think we would meet again, but when I got word Lord Elrohir needed to find you quickly, I offered my help. And it was easier to simply bring him along than to try to memorize his message,” the eagle replied.   
The Elf lord skipped lightly down the rocks to embrace each of them warmly. “I am glad to see you, my friends!” He scrutinized them closely. “You are looking very well, I believe life in the north suits you.”  
“And you look exactly the same as the first time I met you,” Thorin replied with a grin. “What is going on?”   
Elrohir took a deep breath. “Events threaten to overtake us. Vidar’s army has left the Grey Mountains, but instead of continuing east to the Iron Hills, they suddenly turned south and have laid siege to Erebor.”   
Thorin’s face was dark. “And where is the army of Erebor?”   
“With the army of the Iron Hills, marching back to the Lonely Mountain,” the Elf lord replied. “But I understand there is much dissention in the ranks, Thror is not sure who they will support when they get there.”   
“No doubt Vidar’s agents have been busy,” Kaylea mused. “All this time we thought he had his eye on the Iron Hills, but he was really after a richer prize. And the other armies?”   
“The Dwarves of Angmar march to support Erebor, the Lord of Dale is mobilizing his Men, my forces with those of Lorien will be crossing the Anduin as we speak,” Elrohir said. “In two days time there will be a second battle for the Lonely Mountain.”   
“Erebor can withstand a siege for years,” Thorin frowned. “Vidar must know this, why abandon his strategy for the Iron Hills? It makes no sense.”   
“Hubris,” Kaylea said with a smile. “He thinks he cannot fail.”  
“He will discover that he is very wrong,” Thorin replied. He turned at the sound of approaching footfalls to see his daughter, with Nain, Tivan and Cray coming across the clearing toward them. They were all staring in amazement, at the tall Elf lord, at the great eagle, at Thorin and Kaylea, who seemed to be more a part of the world that contained such marvels than they were of the tiny world of the Shire.   
After introductions were made Elrohir quickly explained what was happening on the other side of the Misty Mountains. Freya listened gravely, then smiled at him when he spoke of the Elves already on the march to the Lonely Mountain.   
“You told me you would answer my call, but it appears you did not wait for one,” she told him.  
Elrohir smiled. “If you prefer, I can I call my people back.”   
Freya laughed. “We are glad to have your aid, my lord,” Nain said. “However, I am concerned about the possible dissent in our army, we must be certain of their loyalty.”   
“They need their king to rally around,” Thorin told him. Nain shifted his feet, looked at his mother. Thorin turned to his daughter, who drew herself up, her face determined. She had cast aside the traveling miner and was once again the Queen of the Iron Hills.  
“We will both return to the Iron Hills, but I will be assuming the throne,” she said.   
Elrohir looked at Nain in surprise. “You will cede the throne to your mother?”   
“I am resolved,” the prince told him. “I have long been absent from my kingdom. I am not the one to unite my people. Once I wanted the throne, but now I do not wish to give up my private life.” Elrohir looked at him curiously, but said nothing.   
Thorin regarded his daughter gravely. “You are ready to do this? It is not an easy path you have chosen.”   
“You will be there to advise me,” Freya replied confidently. “And my son, as my right hand.”  
Kaylea saw Thorin visibly slump, she put a hand on his shoulder as he stepped forward and took Freya’s hands in his. The Queen looked from Kaylea to her father in alarm. “Are you not coming with us?”   
“This you must do on your own,” Thorin took a deep breath. “My part is this is finished.”   
“Your appearance would certainly make a quick end to the conflict,” Nain said earnestly. “Are you certain you will not return to the throne?”   
“It is my son’s throne to defend now,” Thorin said. “It is no longer my life.”  
Kaylea could see Freya’s disappointment, she was visibly fighting back tears. Having just been reunited with her father, it was hard to hear he planned to return to his anonymous life in the north. “Will you not reconsider?” She asked him softly.   
“I am a different person now,” Thorin told her. “For me, joy is no longer in titles, or wealth, or enduring legacies, it is to be free of those things.” He put a hand on his daughter’s cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb. “This is your time, yours and your brother’s, and the line of Durin could not be in more capable hands. Make me proud.”   
After a long moment, Freya turned away from her father. Tivan took her hand, offering a handkerchief to dry her eyes. Kaylea put her arm around Thorin, knowing how hard this parting was going to be for him. She was actually surprised he had refused to go, they had talked about it but she wasn’t sure he would really go through with it, especially now with the threat to Erebor. As if sensing her sadness, Thorin’s wolf went to Freya, nudging her hand with her nose. Freya smiled, petting Skadi in response, she had not met this wolf before and she had forgotten how human their eyes were. Skadi sniffed at her clothes curiously, then looked a Thorin. He frowned at her, then looked up sharply at his daughter.   
“What is it?” Freya asked. “What does she smell?” She looked down into the wolf’s yellow eyes and suddenly she was remembering Nain as a baby, rocking him in her arms. Why think of that all of a sudden? She looked back at Skadi, remembering that Kaylea once told her they could put pictures in your mind. Why that picture? Her eyes went wide in realization. “No. It is not possible!”  
“Apparently it is,” Kaylea said, with a grin. “The noses of wolves are sharp, they can smell even slight changes in your body.”   
“What changes?” Tivan asked, feeling like he was missing some part of the conversation. Do wolves talk? “What is going on?”   
“It appears there is some happy news today, to go along with the bad,” Elrohir laughed. “You are to be a father.”   
Even Thorin smiled at the bard’s shocked face. “But that’s not possible!” Tivan exclaimed. “Our women don’t conceive after their hundredth year!”   
“Our women also don’t spend time in Rivendell,” Thorin told him. “The magic of the Elves lies heavy on that valley. It feels as if the normal rules of Middle Earth are suspended there.”   
“Yes indeed, I still have no idea how long we were there,” Tivan nodded. He took Freya’s hands in his, smiling widely at her. “But this! This I never expected! I hope it makes you as happy as it does me, my queen.”   
Freya smiled back at him, but he could see her joy was tempered by doubt. “Happy news, yes. But it could not have come at a worse time. And I worry I may not be able to carry this child to term, none have ever done it at my age.”   
“You appear far younger than your years, your majesty,” Elrohir said. “You are healthy and strong, do not despair! We have skill and medicines that can ease your pregnancy, I can send my healers to attend to you.”  
Freya inclined her head, and smiled at Tivan. “You give me hope, my lord.”   
“Well, this has been a day of revelations,” Nain said dryly. “But before we begin celebrating, we need to decide what we are going to do about this news. I assume we will leave for Erebor at once?”   
“Yes, we must go now,” Freya said. “I wish we could be there in time to ride into Erebor with Lord Elrohir’s forces, that would be a dramatic entrance!”   
Thorin chuckled softly. “I think we can arrange a more dramatic entrance than that,” he looked over at Khrusos, preening his breast feathers unconcernedly. 

The rest of morning was spent making preparations to leave. Cray had many contracts to fulfill, so decided to stay behind to pack up their belongings, and he wanted to find a replacement blacksmith for Hobbiton before he left. Thorin and Kaylea had plenty of time to meet their ship to the north, so they spent the time repairing the doorframe Thorin had broken. It was late in the afternoon when they all returned to the hill. They did not have long to wait before Khrusos appeared from the east, with two other eagles. Kaylea stood with the horses, watching as Thorin walked forward with his daughter, Tivan trailing behind them. Nain and Cray hung back, holding hands.   
“I look forward to hearing about the great victory you will win,” he told her. “Thror knows how to contact me, you must let him know when the baby is born.”   
Freya blinked at him, opening her mouth to chide him for letting her brother know he was alive while keeping it from her, but stopped herself. “I wish you would come with us,” she said at last, her eyes welling with tears.  
Thorin stepped forward and hugged her close. It was a long moment before he spoke. “Believe me when I say this is as hard for me as it is for you. But this is how it must be. Go now, and show the Seven Kingdoms the power of a woman on the throne.” He turned to Tivan. “Take care of her, Master Bard. She is more precious to me than all the gold in Middle Earth.”   
Tivan knelt down on one knee, bowing his head. “Your majesty, I have loved your daughter from the moment I first saw her. She is my muse, the sun in my sky, the reason I look forward to every day. I will cherish and care for her as long as there is breath in my body. This I swear.”   
Thorin smiled at him, motioning for him to stand. “I will hold you to that.” Taking his daughter’s hand he led them over to where the eagles were waiting. Nain and Cray had been standing apart, embracing each other and talking in low tones. Nain gave his partner a final kiss goodbye and came to join the others, his face streaked with tears. Thorin watched as they settled themselves as best they could on the backs of the eagles.   
“Khrusos, my friend, when this is done please consider your debt repaid,” Thorin told the bird. “May you fly free with the wind under your wings for many more years!”   
“I will,” the eagle replied. “Now we must go! We have many miles to cover this night.” The birds launched themselves into the air, and flew into the east.   
Thorin and Cray stood together watching the birds disappear. “Thank you, your majesty, for not judging your grandson too harshly,” Cray said at last. “We are very happy together, it means a lot to Nain to know you do not see any wrong in it.”   
“Once, I would have,” Thorin replied. “But I have learned that true love is a rare thing, and it should always be celebrated.” He smiled at his fellow smith. “And you really do not need to call me ‘your majesty’. I am no longer a king.”   
Cray laughed. “You will always be the greatest of the Dwarf kings! And I will always be at your service,” he bowed deeply and headed back toward Hobbiton.   
Thorin watched him go for a moment before walking to where his wife was waiting. They hugged each other for a long time, neither moving until at last Thorin leaned back, wiping his eyes. “That was the hardest thing I have ever done,” he told her. “Your Dorsai training was a lark by comparison.”   
“I admit, I did not think you would do it,” Kaylea smiled at him. “I am so proud of you, my king.”   
Thorin pressed his forehead to hers. “Would you have come with me, my love?”   
“Of course, my king. You know how much I love a good fight,” Kaylea smiled at him. “Now, let us ride to meet our ship.” 

And so it came to pass, armies once again faced each other in the vale before Erebor. Queen Freya and Prince Nain arrived on the backs of eagles to land before the assembled host. The army of the Elves had just appeared on the field, their fine armor shining in the morning sun. The Dwarves of the Iron Hills rejoiced and all the doubts so carefully sewn by Vidar disappeared, like so much dust in the wind. When battle was joined, the Queen lead her men on the field beside her brother. At first the battle was hard-fought and it looked as though Vidar might prevail. Then the gates of the city opened and the might of Erebor came forth, led by Prince Thorin, son of Thror, just as the Dwarves from Angmar arrived from the north. The soldiers of Vidar’s army were caught between them and Lord Narn himself cut the pretender down. Before any more blood could be shed Queen Freya came before the armies and pledged that any who wanted to make a new home in the Iron Hills were welcome. At this, many of Vidar’s soldiers threw down their weapons. Though they had been persuaded by Vidar’s speeches, with their leader gone and fighting their own kin, their hearts were not in it.   
Queen Freya ruled many long years, over the greatest prosperity the Iron Hills had ever known, with her handsome consort by her side and her son as chief counselor. Her daughter Enya became Queen after her, and her daughter after that. Never again would they accept a King in the Iron Hills. Less than a year after taking the throne she gave birth to a baby girl, at the unheard of age of one hundred and twenty-three. The girl grew into a great beauty, celebrated throughout all the Seven Kingdoms as the fairest of her race. Taking after her father, she became famous performing on the stage, enchanting all with her ethereal voice as far away as Gondor and Belfalas, and even, it was said, in the secret land of Lothlorien.   
By living openly with his partner, Prince Nain began a sea-change in Dwarven society that resulted in a new definition of what was considered normal, a change that many felt had been long overdue.   
But that is another story.


	10. Home Again

The days were noticeably longer now, rushing water could be heard under the ice over the streams, the first green buds were beginning to show on branches that had long been bare. It had been a good winter, not as cold as some, the snows not too deep, with many days of sunshine. Kaylea had done well trapping and had also won an astonishing amount of money racing her sled dogs, a sport she had introduced to the north that the locals had taken up with a vengeance. The competition, and the purses, increased every year. Thorin had finished two sword commissions and spent the remainder of the winter revisiting his passion for jewelry-making. He still had a chest full of precious metals and gems, it had been a long time since he had done anything with them.   
Thorin hawed the dogs onto the road to their cabin. It was a perfect day for a run, it had been threatening snow when he headed into town two days ago, but now the sky was blue and cloudless, warm enough he did not need his heavy coat. This had been just a quick trip to drop off some packages and pick up a few supplies. He hoped the necklace would reach Freya near the time her baby was born, his gift for her celebration. He had included another necklace, in case it was a girl, knowing his daughter could have it made into something else if she bore a son. Thorin had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed making jewelry, as he watched the dogs trot along the trail his mind went to the gold mesh piece for Kaylea he had just finished. He had made one years ago for their wedding, and he intended to save this one for an important anniversary. She hadn’t worn the original one in some time, he spent the rest of the run home daydreaming about it, and wondering if he could persuade her to wear it tonight.

The dogs picked up the pace, knowing they were close to home. They came around the final turn and their little homestead came into view. The neat stone cabin, woodsmoke rising from the chimney, wide porch along the front, outbuildings and dogyard past the small barn. Kaylea looked up from where she was stacking wood, the dogs in the yard howling and barking, as if they had not seen their fellows in months. Thorin braked the sled in the yard and kicked in the snow hooks. He stepped off and looked around, it still surprised him the feeling of peace he got from this home in the woods. He had never thought he could be so happy living above ground. Kaylea came over to give him a quick kiss before helping with the dogs. Working together it was only a little over an hour before chores were done and they were kicking off their boots in the cabin.   
“It is good to be home!” Thorin said, hanging his hat and coat on the hook next to hers.   
Kaylea laughed. “You have only been gone a few days!” She lifted the lid of the pot on the stove. “Ready for dinner? Been keeping this stew warm.”   
“A day away from you is a day too long,” Thorin said as he took a seat on the couch. “Leave that for now, come and have a drink with me.”   
Kaylea took down a tall bottle and glasses while Thorin stoked the fire. “What is the news?”   
“Not much from the south,” Thorin said, taking a glass. “Though apparently there is much excitement about this new Queen in the Iron Hills.” He chuckled as Kaylea sat down beside him. “It seems her choice of Tivan has made her even more popular.”   
“Well, he is very famous. And it is really only nobles who worry about their children marrying below their station, I think they are well-matched,” Kaylea said, clicking her glass to his. “Here’s to your new grandchild.”  
“Here’s to love,” Thorin said, and tossed back his drink. He put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close as he poured another round.   
Kaylea brought her legs up underneath her, curling against him. “I love you, husband,” she let her head fall onto his shoulder. “I miss these arms when you are gone.”   
Thorin kissed her forehead, his fingers stroking her hair. “We have built a good life here. I wish we could stay.”   
“We have at least fifty years before we need to make any changes,” Kaylea told him. “And we can always come back here.”   
Thorin sipped at his drink thoughtfully. “Will you go back to the Saurdakar?”   
Kaylea was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. I am a warrior, and it could be fun to work my way up through the ranks again. Leading men into battle is my best destiny. But the Empire is full of possibilities. I have been a spice-smuggler, a mercenary, a courier and many other things.” She leaned back to look at his face. “You know you can stay here. Or on Dorsai, if you wish.”   
“The only life I want to lead is with you, my love,” Thorin replied, pulling her against him. “But I like the idea of making this a home base.”   
Kaylea shrugged. “There are no facilities here to fuel or repair a ship. We could make a point of spending some downtime here every year.” She smiled at him. “I’d like that.”   
“Then we are agreed,” Thorin nodded. They sat quietly, watching the fire for a time. “I have been thinking, we should take a trip together to the Iron Hills next fall.”   
“We are too easily recognized if we travel together,” Kaylea said, sipping at her drink. “Our last journey should have taught you that.”   
“You are probably right,” Thorin sighed. “But I would rather travel with you than alone, this search for the prince reminded me of how much I enjoy it.”   
“In any case, next fall will be too soon. Freya is still becoming accustomed to her role, while also carrying a child and making a home among her people for all those homeless Dwarves.” Kaylea toyed with the buttons on his shirt. “It might be better to wait. When your grandchild is old enough to travel ask her to visit Erebor when you are there, then Thror can manage a private audience.”  
Thorin frowned. “I like my idea better,” he shook his head. “Do you ever get tired of being right?”  
“You’re the one who married a sensible woman,” Kaylea smiled at him. “Do you ever get tired of being the passionate one?”  
In response, Thorin kissed her deeply, his hand traveling up her body encountered something under her shirt. He undid the first few buttons to see one of the necklaces he had made for her over the winter. The one with long ropes of sparkling gems that trailed down between her breasts, it stirred his blood to see it against her skin. He ran his fingers over the gems, feeling the softness of her skin between.   
“I will always love you with a passion, my queen,” he said softly. “I’m glad we both feel this is a special occasion.”   
“Anytime I am in your arms it is a special occasion,” Kaylea purred. “I thought I would make a bit of an effort tonight.” She frowned suddenly. “I hope I am not forgetting another anniversary.”  
Thorin laughed. It was a sort of running joke that he remembered every important date in their lives together, while Kaylea invariably forgot all of them. “I have been three days away from my beautiful wife!” He undid another button. “I call that a cause for celebration.”


End file.
